


The Fresh Prince of French Lick

by Boucheron



Series: Mr. Moreau [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Age Difference, Dubious Morality, Emotional Manipulation, Eventual Smut, Extremely Dubious Consent, Extremely Underage, F/M, French Characters, Hebephilia, I'm Going to Hell, I'm Not Ashamed, Infatuation, Lolita, Loss of Virginity, Mid-life Crisis, Molestation, Not as dark as the tags might make it look, Older Man/Younger Woman, Pedophilia, Porn With Plot, Running Away, Secret Relationship, Sexual Abuse, Some questionable technology, Spies & Secret Agents, Stalking, Statutory Rape, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-02-22 22:55:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 52,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13176942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boucheron/pseuds/Boucheron
Summary: A Frenchman in America feels the pressures of a mid-life crisis approaching as he goes on vacation with his colleagues at French Lick resort. Being a life-long bachelor who has grown tired of moving on from woman to woman, he wants to find a companion he can commit to in the long term, take places, and find new purpose with. Problem is, the companion he has in mind is an underage girl.





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, it's my first work on here...
> 
> I've already reserved my own seat in hell for it.
> 
> Before we get into this, I have several disclaimers, because those are always needed for some reason. As a matter of fact, my dingus senses are tingling - SOMEBODY will come here just to drop some stupid SJW comment. So here are some quick points I’d like to make for all the dinguses out there:
> 
> **1.** The French Lick Springs/West Baden Springs resort is an actual, real-life location near the Hoosier National Forest in southern Indiana. ***** NOTHING TAKING PLACE IN THIS STORY ACTUALLY HAPPENED AT THIS GOD DAMN RESORT. *****  
>  **2.** I do not condone this kind of behavior or activity in real life, and I don't intend to glorify the situations you will see here. Things like this should always be kept in fantasy, and this outlet exists just for that.  
>  **3.** Regarding the rape/non-con warning: I added this because under the law, that is what's happening in this story since a minor cannot consent under any circumstance, even if it looks like they are. These acts aren't inherently violent or coercive, but **the protagonist's actions and the 'consent' given (as he sees it) get more questionable as the story goes on.**
> 
> **If you're here specifically for the porn, skip to chapter four onward. If you’re here for the plot and are deeply disturbed by the porn, good luck making it through those later chapters.**
> 
> **This story does NOT follow a regular update schedule and wait times can range anywhere from 2-6 weeks (or even longer) depending on life and how fast I can get myself to work.**
> 
> With all of that out of the way, this is your last chance to leave if you don't like what you're seeing. If it's in the tags I don't want to see anyone about bitching about it, and if I so much as smell an SJW behind a comment, prepare for me to lay down the smack. Otherwise, enjoy.

###### Monday, June 5th, 2017

 _No smoking_ , they demand.

Mr. Moreau scoffed as he pushed away the sheer white curtains and slid open one of the windows as high as it would allow, taking out his lighter and bringing a cigarette to his teeth. After lighting it and breathing the smoke out the window, he reveled in its familiar rush of nicotine and looked out over the quiet grounds of the French Lick Springs hotel.

He was never much one to play by the rules. As a schoolboy in France he had enjoyed playing mind games on his classmates and even teachers, and even found it funny when his parents were admonished by the administration for not raising him to be the ideal young man with values of honesty and refined character.

Well, refinement was never his problem, but the honesty was a weak point. For whatever reason that virtue was never instilled in him quite well enough, Claude learned that he must do what he must in order to get anything he wanted, and to find out anything he wanted. 

This is ultimately what led him to choose given his career. As part of an underground, illegal field, his training as a spy let him reach his full potential in trickery and stealthy infiltration. As a boy he had learned he could find many ways not to get caught, but as a man, he learned that if he does anyway, there was always a way to get out clean.

Then he wondered, how was he going to avoid his colleagues during their stay? They had practically dragged him to the damned resort, desperately wishing to recreate an outing similar to the one they had in Las Vegas a few years before. However, this detached tourist spot in southern Indiana was far less glamorous to him. Before leaving to go on their long trek through wooded hills, they had all teased him on the fitting name of their destination, French Lick. He decided to take his own car.

Despite the looks of the place in all its relative dullness, Mr. Moreau might as well make the most out of his vacation before he had to return to a life of sleuthing under the radar. 

It would be narrowly possible for him to find a woman to fool around with and bed there, though it wouldn't be worth his efforts, since in recent months he found those kinds of relationships no longer satisfied him. After coming to that realization, he buried his feelings as deeply as any of his secrets, and had begun to ignore the opposite sex altogether. It was a challenge, however, as he still sometimes took notice of women eyeing him discreetly, but with a clear hunger that made him recoil. 

No matter their age, close to his or much younger, they had always seemed to gauge him all the same way - a handsome, well-to-do foreign man for them to leech off of, whether that be for money or sex. He recalled meeting each of these women: 

_"Oh, you're a foreigner?"_

_"I could use a sugar daddy..."_

_"Where are you from?"_

_"I'm really into French guys!"_

All of which he had been given multiple times at that point, and all the women behind these words had gone within a week, or even a day, after realizing this man was not all they made him out to be.

He didn't want a one-night stand.

He didn't want to pay someone for a warm bed.

He didn't want to put up with typical American ignorance.

Mr. Moreau was giving up on his pursuits for the time being, no matter how much his elderly parents back home would berate him for it. For his entire adult life they nagged him to settle down and give them grandchildren, but especially with the kind of field he worked in, this had always been answered with a hard _no_.

The Frenchman felt a pang of homesickness. He truly missed his childhood home in the countryside not far from Paris, the same stone _mason_ which his parents still resided. He truly missed his fellow French colleagues who he could sit down with at a cafe and comically guess who else on the street were also spies like them.

Since moving to the U.S. over eight years ago he had been free to be involved in all the short flings he could ask for - but with no wife and children, what would that make of him? At forty-seven years of age, a lonely old man with no legacy to show for.

The Frenchman felt his crisis deepening when he heard a knock at the door, knowing exactly who it was. _Can't I get any peace?_ He knew his colleagues probably weren't going to put up with his seclusion from them. Turning away from the window, he made his way toward the front of the room to the door, cigarette still in-hand. Unchaining the door and opening it, he wasn't surprised in the slightest to see Mr. Reid, Mr. Abbott, and Mr. Brunton standing there, dressed readily for a casual evening out. He could barely keep from glowering. 

"Hey Claude," Mr. Abbott began, "We were just about go find something to eat before heading over to the casino. Are you coming?"

Mr. Moreau shook his head wearily, clearly not in the mood, "No, I won't be gambling here."

"Really? But will you still get dinner with us?"

"No," he said firmly. He was planning to order food with room service, anything to spend some time alone and think. The American took the hint from Mr. Moreau's glower, "Shame...but whatever. It's your loss, Claude."

 _I will not be losing anything!_ They would almost certainly be losing more cash than they could ever hope to make up for in fun.

"I mean, hey, they let you smoke in the casino," Mr. Brunton said, "Thought that would be better than sitting there stinking up your own room." Shrugging, he stepped away from the door and started off down the hall, and Mr. Reid followed suit. As tempting as that sounded, he was not allowing himself to get sucked into their trap. "Well...see you later then," Mr. Abbott murmured before leaving to follow behind his friends.

Shutting the door with a sigh and locking its chain, the black sheep of the group tossed his cigarette in the wastebasket and went to lay down and brood on the leather couch in the small living area. He needed to figure out how to spend his vacation independent from them.

* * *

Anneabelle Clarke could hardly keep her eyes open as she watched the scenes of rural Indiana speed by. After several hours of her family's drive to French Lick, the world was beginning to look entirely the same to her - endless trees and growing fields of soybeans with the occasional patch of rustic civilization. 

She was grateful to be on this trip regardless, since she couldn't remember the last time they decided to do something this special before her upcoming birthday on the 11th. Previously it had mostly been slumber parties with her friends from school, and this brief vacation was offered as trade-off for that.

However, the motivation for this trip mostly stemmed from her older brother Jackson's success through his junior year of high school. Being the oldest and therefore the favorite child, their parents were thrilled to find his potential for senior year, and subsequently, college. It was funny to her in a bitter way how she still felt to be living in his shadow.

Her father had turned off the radio in the car some indeterminate time as she was lost in thought, and the family rode in a tense silence. 

She decided to break it, "Could we go swimming tomorrow?" Mrs. Clarke had told them there was a pool area, and had pestered them all into bringing swimsuits and towels along.

"If it's warm enough," Mr. Clarke replied bluntly, eyes locked on the road. The weather was often hit or miss at that time of year. 

"But don't they have an indoor pool also?" Jackson questioned, not looking away from the window as he rested beside Ann. "That's right...it's the one with the dolphin fountain," Mrs. Clarke recalled. "I'll have to see that one personally, some time." The building it belonged to was very likely to be heated. Either way, both pools were close to each other, built in the same given area - if the weather changed during their outing, whether in temperature or precipitation, it wouldn't be a tough transition. 

After a moment's silence, Mr. Clarke uttered, "I supposed we could eat at the Power Plant grill tonight...they have burgers and stuff we all might like." The rest of his family made no comment, their appetites not yet strong enough for it. 

Ann leaned against the car window and began fantasizing of how their trip would play out over the next nine days - exploring the forested hills on horseback, wearing her best dress for her birthday celebration, and seeing the hotel's charming aesthetic which the resort advertised so proudly. Soon, her eyes grew heavy and she dozed off to the vehicle's gentle hum.

With what must have been less than an hour later, in a half-conscious state Ann felt Jackson's hand prodding at her shoulder. "Hey," she heard him murmur. Struggling to open her eyes, the girl listlessly brought her head from the window sill to look at him, "What..."

"We're here."

Ann had failed to notice before that the car was driving much slower than when she had fallen asleep, showing that they had gotten off the highway at some point. At that moment the girl's eyes focused, and all of a sudden she could see crystal-clear that they were driving down Broadway street, sparsely lined with old brick buildings until the property of West Baden Springs and its massive hotel stood behind the trees in the distance.

"Whoa!" she clicked her seatbelt off and crawled all over her brother to get a better view of it out of his window. "Will you-!" Jackson said, but there was no containing his sister's excitement. From its arched entrance, a long red brick road lined with maple trees would lead to the sequestered building. She anticipated them entering through that arch, but instead, they passed right by it.

"We aren't staying at that one, Ann," Mr. Clarke laughed, "but we can still visit it later." Jackson shoved her off onto the rest of the backseat once West Baden Springs was out of sight. Normally this would have upset her, but that day she hadn't a care in the world. 

Continuing down the street, past a gas station, liquor store, and various other shops, the family was soon immersed in front of their final destination. They passed the casino and its parking lot, which was beginning to fill with gamblers' cars for the evening before turning into the parking lot in front of the hotel. Finding one of the few spots left in the last row, Ann's father could finally rest after a day of driving.

"Okay..." he sighed, turning the engine off and leaning to face the kids in the back, "So this is it. Looks nice, huh?" Jackson peered between the two front seats to look up at it for a moment. "It looks old," he said apathetically. It didn't seem too different from many of the buildings featured in the black-and-white photos plastered into his history textbooks.

"Well, yeah, that too," his father replied and shrugged, "but at least it's still maintained well enough that we can experience this piece of history." The teenager rolled his eyes.

"Your great-great-grandparents could have stayed here, you know," Mrs. Clarke mused as she gathered her purse and opened the door. Her husband also got out and stretched before heading to the trunk to open it. Everyone congregated before it to take out their luggage before he locked the car, and they walked as a family with their bags across the street to the valet area. Several men waiting at the entrance hastily approached and offered to take their luggage up the red-carpeted flight of stairs to the entrance.

"Oh, thank you," Mrs. Clarke breathed as the weight was taken off of them, and the family stood at the bottom of the stairs momentarily to rest while the porters moved their things to a luggage cart near the door.

After they climbed up the steps and reached the extensive porch and their luggage cart at the entrance, Ann fondly observed the many elders relaxing in rocking chairs and talking amongst themselves. One old lady noticed and grinned at her briefly before her mother coaxed her to go inside.

Upon entering, the girl marveled at the ornate and elegant design of the hotel's lobby, as well as the equally elegant people, nicely dressed for the evening as they rested in the lounge near the front desk which her parents were seeing to. She listened in on their conversations about their latest rounds of golf and their quarrels on who would win the most money at the casino later on. To her, French Lick and West Baden Springs seemed to be an oasis of culture in the otherwise agrarian society.

Mr. Clarke had finished speaking with the hotel reception when it was time to roll the luggage cart to the elevator. With all four of the Clarke's watching one corner of the cart each, they made their way down the hall and pressed the elevator's button. It wasn't long before its doors slid open and the Clarke's carefully put the cart and themselves inside; it was a rather tight fit. Silently, they all watched the number above them strike 3 before the doors opened again, and they were somewhere else entirely. Just a few doors down the hall was their room, and the luggage cart was parked in front of the door for them to take their bags from it and set them inside. This typical guest room used a light brown scheme, with an intricate pattern in the carpet and freshly cleaned bedding. Ann was eager to jump onto one of the beds, flopping down and burying her face into a white pillow.

"Taking _another_ nap?" Mr. Clarke joked as he put down his suitcase at the foot of the bed. His daughter simply nodded against the pillow. "Well... then I'm gonna ask both of you to stay here while me and your mom take the cart back and look around. Ok?" he said. Neither Ann or Jackson replied, but looked compliant nonetheless. Their parents then left them alone in the room, gently shutting the door.

Ann lifted her head off the pillow and watched her brother find the remote and turn the TV on. He pulled the accent chair out from in front of the desk so that it had a better position in front of the TV before sitting down in it.

After mentally debating whether she should get up from such a cozy position, the girl jumped off from the bed to investigate the bathroom near the entrance. Jackson didn't fail to hear her opening all the sink cabinets and the shower curtain, "There's even double sinks!" She also took note of the several different shampoos available, picking them up and skimming over their labels.

"You act like we're gonna live here," Jackson muttered as he watched the baseball game happening someplace else in the country. "Yeah, I _would_ live here. I love this place already," Ann came out of the bathroom to return to the bed.

"I'll decide if I like this place or not once I have their food." Being a bottomless pit of a teenager, Jackson based nearly all of his judgments by what his stomach thought, rather than his brain. His sister laughed as she crawled over the bed, "I think it's supposed to be good, so..." She soon found the same spot on top of the thick bedding she laid before to get comfortable. 

Meanwhile, Jackson had sunken to a slouch in his chair as he stared at the screen, "Whatever." For an indefinite amount of time, the two lazily followed the baseball game until their parents would return.

* * *

Sometime after he received wine and a small meal with his room service while his colleagues were away, Mr. Moreau lazed on the couch and had come to drown himself in drink that evening in order to cope with his impending emotional troubles. He was beginning to question nearly everything - why was he even staying there? Once he managed to get over his alcohol-induced haze he could cancel his stay, leave his colleagues and head back to his Indianapolis apartment that very same night. At the moment, it seemed to him there was nothing to be had if he stayed. 

There was a rather low chance any women at the resort were looking to meet and seriously settle down with a man, if they hadn't with someone else already. After months of simply ignoring them unconditionally to focus on his work, he was truly frustrated, and it would probably worsen each day he didn't do something about it.

The Frenchman took the empty red wine bottle from the end table next to him and inspected its brand and year, obscure and relatively recent. _Déchets_ , he sneered; its flavor was lackluster, too. He was surprised he even managed to drink all of it. Grasping it by the neck, he stood with it and impulsively opened the window to toss it outside, allowing it to shatter into black pieces in the grass far below. 

He was about to sit back down when he heard a familiar knock at the door again. Again, they had come to torment him! Barely able to contain his contempt, Mr. Moreau quickly straightened his appearance and put on his most neutral expression possible before opening the door.

His colleagues seemed to be laughing amongst themselves with full stomachs until Mr. Abbott turned his attention to him. His jolly expression fell upon seeing the Frenchman, "Whoa...you ok, Claude?" Apparently, his hasty efforts to look not to be drinking to cope with a crisis failed.

Mr. Moreau blinked, nodding as he rubbed his eye with his palm, "I-I'm alright."

"Just tired?" Mr. Brunton narrowed his eyes. The other man felt that he didn't even need to answer, and waited to be given a reason for them to have come back.

"...We were going to ask just to make sure whether you wanted to come to the casino with us," Mr. Abbott said, frowning, "But it doesn't look like you're in any condition for that. Sorry for bothering you." He began to turn away dismissively, in subtle disappointment. 

"Have a good evening," Mr. Reid murmured as the door was resentfully shut on them. All three men, remaining at the same spot in the hall, looked at each other and shook their heads. Mr. Brunton crossed his arms and stepped away from the door. "He's been drinking," he muttered.

"And it's never a good idea to gamble when you're drunk," Mr. Abbott shrugged before leading the others down the hall, and eventually to the casino's entrance at the very other side of the hotel. "I just don't get him...he never allows himself to have any fun," Mr. Reid glanced behind himself at their forsaken colleague's door regrettably as he trailed behind the others. He remembered when Mr. Moreau was friendlier, years ago as a newcomer wonder-struck by America's people, its values, and its diplomacy. The three had helped him adapt to their agency, but over time he seemed to have become a hollow shell of that man, as if all his dreams were never quite met.

* * *

Later that night, the Clarkes had casually journeyed back to their hotel room after their evening out eating and visiting the resort's bowling alley, eager to finally rest to end their day. Similar to when they first arrived at their room, Jackson had quickly claimed the only chair and turned on the TV straight away, the children's mother meanwhile opening a window after believing the room had gotten too hot while they were absent. 

Peeved that Jackson had only returned to the sports channel from earlier, Ann said, "That _again?_ Can't we change it to something else?"

"What are you gonna do about it?" he retorted, eyes not leaving the screen. Cracking a smirk, his sister rushed to him and tried to wrestle the remote out of his hand. "Oh my god - stop!" he swiftly evaded his hand away from hers several times before curling up and trying to conceal the device with his body as a last resort. "Ann, get off of him," her mother reprimanded from atop one of the beds, but her father had to step in when his wife was promptly ignored.

"Okay, missie..." he went to hoist her off from her brother as she grasped at air, "I think it's time for you to get some shuteye." He brought her to the bed she claimed and fluffed up one of the pillows for her. "Why me? And it isn't even nine o'clock!" she protested, sitting up on the bedding. Despite still being one in reality, she wasn't enjoying being treated like a child again.

"Because it's been a long day and you shouldn't be wasting all your energy in one night, huh?" he replied as he shut off the lamp on the nightstand and Ann reluctantly laid herself under the thick covers.

"Now try to sleep," her father left the bedside and turned the corner to go to the bathroom. The girl shifted and settled deeper into the soft mattress, the light from the TV flickering blue and white across the two beds and her face as her mother and Jackson watched it. Soon enough, Ann had come to ignore its noise and let the cool air flowing in through the window lull her to sleep.


	2. II

###### Tuesday, June 6th, 2017

Mr. Moreau couldn't bring himself to leave the resort the night before, though he couldn't recall whether it was out of an unusual guilt to ditch his colleagues without notice, or sheer dread at the idea of driving all the way home so late in the dark when he had recently been drinking. The second one, most likely.

So after a morning spent stewing over a plan of action for his relations to his colleagues and the resort in vain, Mr. Moreau had concluded that he needed to relax and at least try to enjoy the time he had away from his usual agenda in some fashion, as was originally planned. Though, this was difficult as he was growing hungry, but at the same time stressed at the risk of running into the cohorts again if he went somewhere to eat for lunch. He hadn't seen them since they had left for the casino the last evening, and felt that each passing moment increased the likelihood of them reappearing again as if in the gambler's fallacy.

His stomach's demands overthrew his paranoia. Gathering his key card and wallet, he fixed up his business casual suit and left out the door. The Frenchman moved down the empty hall with purpose, checking behind him and down alternate routes occasionally before taking the elevator to the main level. As soon as its doors opened, Mr. Moreau immediately realized the massive amount of activity happening at this floor compared to the others. People were coming and going from the various dining options and the spa within the building, others rolling luggage behind them to check out from the hotel and continue their trips elsewhere.

He scanned the lobby carefully for any sign of Abbott, Reid, or Brunton, but all faces showed to be less than familiar. Still keeping his eyes peeled for them, the man headed past the French Lick Mercantile down the hall and turned to enter the bustling Spring No. 8 Deli. A small poolside sports bar and grill, the place offered relatively cheap drinks and sandwiches. 

Out of luck - all the bar seats had been taken claimed by damp, rowdy young men who had been spending more than enough time at the pool and were now completely absorbed in the sporting events on the TVs above them. Most of the tables nearby were also claimed by parents and their children, and he tried not to dirty his shoes on water or crumbs as he followed a red runner carpet to reach the outdoor seating.

Upon stepping outside, he quickly took a seat at a shaded metal table which had been recently cleaned up after a previous customer. A laminated menu was left behind, and with relatively limited options it did not take much effort for him to find what he was going to order. Not long after he took a deep breath and observed the warm, sunny weather for that day, a waitress approached his table.

"What can I bring you to eat, sir?" she quipped.

"I'll take a Spring 8 Classic."

"And to drink?"

"Cabernet Sauvignon, thank you," he handed her the menu and she left for the kitchen inside without a word.

Mr. Moreau managed to zone out entirely as he waited for his items, cries of laughter at the pool and the conversations within the building being reduced to white noise as he found complete relaxation for the first time at the resort exactly as he would have liked. He inwardly sneered at each passing scantily-clad woman making her way to the pool area, often with a spouse as an escort. A growing bitterness was taking over his heart as his instinctual male desires seemed to wane. The man tried to focus on anything else, and looked down at his table to observe its grated pattern instead.

As he battled with himself mentally, he almost didn't notice the waitress returning to his table with the things he ordered, "Here you are, sir." She gently set down the sandwich's paper-lined basket and the bottle of wine along with a glass for him to serve himself.

"Thank you," he blinked, glancing at the food before him. After the waitress left, he pried apart the sandwich to inspect its contents. It didn't look inherently bad, he just couldn't bring himself to eat just yet. He opened the bottle of wine and poured a glass, sniffing the drink and raising it to take a sip; surprisingly better than whatever was brought to his room the night before. 

As he continued to drink, Mr. Moreau people-watched, but subconsciously ignored the various women, no matter how enticing they may have looked to any other man. He began to question what has truly been wrong with him in the past several months. 

His wineglass was half empty when his eyes fell upon something he never believed would captivate him as it did at that moment.

She gracefully padded with bare feet through the sliding glass doorway from the indoor pool's dwelling, rosy lips wide open in a jubilant smile as she laughed with the older boy beside her, and her brown hair darkened from the water gleamed in the sunlight once they were outside. Ever so unsuitably, his eyes moved down her form - in a floral pattern, a salmon and white tankini covered every slight, unfledged curve of her damp skin. She was caught in a blissful state between youth and womanhood, and never before had that looked so appealing to him. Or at all, actually.

She was a _child._

He almost hadn't even come to that realization as he watched her and the boy descend the concrete steps to the outdoor pool's main area, where many others like them frolicked. It was almost excruciating for Mr. Moreau to take his eyes off the young beauty, and anxiously inspected his bottle of wine with a troubled look. He wondered if the drink was already getting to him, or worse, if it had somehow been tampered with. 

Looking out to the pool area again, he struggled to find the girl. His wide eyes glanced frantically as he found himself leaning slightly out of his seat to look over the brush and fencing separating the outdoor dining vicinity from the pool's. Was she only a hallucination? He had to outsource blame on the alcohol if she was never there to begin with, a figment of his mind as he drank. 

Just then, a head burst through the surface of the water, and he found the same girl of interest catching her breath as she moved strands of soaked hair out from her face. Mr. Moreau relaxed in his seat, a sigh leaving his lips. As he continued to watch her swim around and playfully roughhouse with the teenager, an infatuated smile crossed his face, though not for long.

These feelings were all his own doing. Mr. Moreau found his heart pounding even harder than before, and not out of desire, but out of true revulsion and horror. He began to shift his gaze to each of the adults in the area, wondering if any of them had noticed him staring at the young girl with longing. Mentally, he could feel dozens of eyes bore into his skin with an unforgiving disdain, if only they had known of it at all. Everything about this was wrong no matter what angle one could take on it, but he felt his desires rapidly turning into needs. 

His eyes returned to the swimming girl, and within moments he took in the sight of her turning her head around to gaze up at him with a growing smile, seemingly acknowledging and teasing him in her own girlish way. 

Mr. Moreau could hardly believe it. Had she really looked at him, or was it someone else nearby? After she looked away and resumed swimming, he discreetly scanned the area around him for someone else who might have been a likely candidate. No one else seemed to be looking in the direction he had been, but he could never know for sure. Observing them once more, he assumed that the boy she was with was a relative - why would she be dating someone that age at the given age she was, with no one disapproving? There wasn't a good reason for him to be jealous of them being together, but somehow he still was.

An idea suddenly came to him; this girl may very well be the answer to his recent crisis. 

He had to have her.

And his mind twisted - if he possessed her, she could play the role of both a partner and a daughter, a 'legacy' of some alternative sort. Being a child, she would have no choice but to rely on him in the long term, and never walk out on him like so many self-sufficient grown women had before.

 _She won't love me if I take her forcibly._ He would have to dig up his skills in seduction from his younger days in order to lure her into running away with him, all the while remaining undetected by her family and the public. Despite not quite knowing how he would at that time, as a spy, he always found a way. Young girls were overtly trustful; they never suspected or simply assumed anything of a man. As long as he utilized the skills he had gained over years of training in espionage effectively, the task would be challenging, but certainly not impossible. After all, this was a man who could get away with murder, if he ever so wanted.

He briefly fantasized about him getting to know and eventually gaining her when he was brought back to reality. Apparently, the girl's time at the pool was over - along with the teenager she waded up the pool's steps, water running down her sun-kissed skin before they approached a couple of lounge chairs. Both of them picked up towels off the chairs and dried themselves quickly before putting back on their streets clothes; a blouse, pair of shorts and sandals for the girl. 

Mr. Moreau didn't wish for her to leave; she looked gorgeous, near-perfect to him swimming. The boy carelessly stuffed the used towels into a bag before they both climbed the steps to approach the doors going inside, through the Spring No. 8 Deli.

The Frenchman realized he had never eaten the food served to him, stuffing as much of it as he could into his mouth as he watched them step closer to the doors. Frantically standing up and pulling out his wallet, he took out several $5 bills carelessly to leave out on the table. His waitress was serving another table just nearby, "Madame!" She looked to him in confusion.

"I'm paying in cash; I really must go."

"That's alright!" she replied merrily. 

Mr. Moreau wiped his mouth with a napkin and slipped his wallet back in his coat pocket before leaving to go where the children had disappeared within the restaurant. 

As the Frenchman followed the red runner from which he originally came, he noticed the girl and boy must have already returned to the hotel's main building. Picking up his pace, he left the deli to pass the public bathroom vicinity and stopped in front of the main hallway.

To the right? No sign of them. But to the left, he barely recognized the two side by side with their damp hair, the rest of their figures a little obscured from the people around them. With eyes like a hawk, he trailed behind them ambitiously until they turned into the entryway of French Lick Mercantile, not far from the lobby. The shop was relatively busy, and Mr. Moreau reminded himself not to make it obvious what he was after by outright staring at the girl. Glancing, he watched her and teenager begin to browse some souvenirs as he slowly entered the store and stationed himself next to the newspaper stand, quickly taking a headline and opening it in front of his face so that he was hidden from her in particular.

Moments later, he heard snickering coming from their direction, and peaked out from behind his newspaper. Eyes furrowing, he hoped to God he hadn't been foiled already. 

But instead, the two seemed to be poking fun at a mug they had picked up from a nearby stand. In the next moment the boy put it back down, and Mr. Moreau heard the girl's sweet voice clearly for the first time.

"Oh, they have ice cream..." she murmured to the boy, tugging at his sleeve and looking to the ice cream stand at the end of the store.

The man's face reddened far more than it should have, and he shrank behind his newspaper. He momentarily imagined himself in the other's place, keeping an ear open.

"Yeah, and?" he heard the teenager reply with snark, eyes narrowing.

"Could we get some?" she leaned in front of him, smiling mischievously, “Please?” The boy rolled his eyes and reached into his pocket to take out some cash, counting it. "Fine..." he muttered. In response, the girl giggled and romped over to the stand with the teenager following behind and began taking a look into the glass case full of flavors. 

Mr. Moreau could hardly bear how adorable she was. How she enchanted him, he found no fitting words to even describe it.

He couldn't quite hear them clearly as they each chose a flavor of ice cream and type of cone. As they waited to be served, the man took his eyes off the girl and continued to fake his preoccupation, glazing over the reading mindlessly. After less than a minute, they were both served their desserts over the counter, and turned to leave the store as they began eating them. Mr. Moreau placed his newspaper back on the stand and followed them out to the lobby where they were headed toward. 

Once out, he noticed that they had stopped near the extensive sitting area, continuing to look around and eat when an elderly man on a couch turned to them. The Frenchman leaned against a pillar at the edge of the lobby and pretended to check his phone as he listened closely.

"What are you two kids up to today?" the friendly old man drawled.

"Trying to get out of the heat, I guess," the teenager answered between licks of his ice cream.

The man turned away and nodded, "Yep, it's supposed to be a hot one today!"

"I thought it was nice, while we were out swimming," the girl said, to which the teenager huffed, "Yeah, but that was enough for one day." He looked down at his cone which was already beginning to melt. Meanwhile, Mr. Moreau desperately wished for them to go their separate ways sometime soon.

"But weren't we gonna see the garden?" she inquired to him, expression falling. The boy had begun eating his cone, saying as his mouth was muffled with it, "...I'm not. I mean, can’t you just go there yourself? I'll stay behind in here." 

His wish had been swiftly granted. The man waited anxiously as the girl hesitantly departed from the teenager, who turned away to wander elsewhere. Mr. Moreau waited a few moments before leaving in the same direction she was, to the exit out to the garden at the back of the hotel's property. Walking rather slowly, he watched her make her way through the grand main doorway outside, down curved concrete steps to an expansive patio area dotted with tables and benches. Strolling through it and approaching a large flight of steps downhill, she briefly observed the garden below, finishing her ice cream. Mr. Moreau meanwhile crept a reasonable distance behind.

He waited patiently for her to descend the steps, and moments later she reached the bottom to follow a path to a well-decorated artificial spring with fountains and small arches going over the water. The man stopped at the railing of the patio above, using some of the shrubbery as partial cover as he watched her approach the pond full of waterfowl, empty cone in-hand. Soon enough, the girl leaned over the white railing of the small bridge as she began to feed the sweet bits of cone to the waiting ducks. A cigarette tempted him almost as much as she, but if he wanted to make a good first impression, he'd rather not smell of smoke.

He’d had enough of only admiring her innocence far from her. Dead set on the girl several dozen feet before him, he made his way down the same steps she had down into the garden and toward the little spring. Heart beginning to race with anticipation, Mr. Moreau approached with stealth until he was just beside her, marveling at how fixated she was on the greedy birds in the pool, apparently never hearing his footsteps. Then he leaned over so that his rippling silhouette was right next to hers.

He watched her inattentive expression through the water, which quickly turned to alarm as her eyes happened to shift to see his reflection beside her own. With a gasp, she stood up straight to face the strange man in person, who smiled gently in response. "Hello," he said plainly. For the first time, he could see her eyes clearly, a brilliant gray-blue similar to his own. Beginning to dry under the sun, her hair had begun to frizz and give off the bitter scent of pool water.

The girl stepped away shyly, "Hi..." Mr. Moreau stayed back, not wishing to put any more pressure on her than he already did. She held her remaining ice cream cone close to her, glancing, "Didn't I see you at the pool earlier?" 

The Frenchman pretended not to remember clearly, "...Yes, I believe you had." He tried his absolute hardest to keep from simpering as they spoke for the first time. She noticeably tilted her head in thought, possibly trying to decipher his accent.

After a moment, he asked her softly, "What is your name?"

She lifted her head a little, making more steady eye contact, "Annabelle - or Ann, for short."

Mr. Moreau found himself being brought back to elementary school in France, where there was a girl in his class who shared the very same name. Being clueless with girls as a boy, he had awkwardly asked her in class if she wanted to play with him at recess. He was rejected, she and her friends laughing off his question. He hadn't recalled that incident in years. 

"Beautiful," he said, though he shouldn't flatter her so early on. Smiling slightly and looking down, she turned back to the bridge's railing and continued breaking off pieces of cone for the ducks, "What's yours?"

"You may call me Mr. Moreau," the man copied her stance against the railing and looked out to the gazebo across the spring. To him she already seemed more deserving to call him by his first name than his colleagues, however.

"I've never heard of that name before," she continued throwing cone crumbs at the fowl, "It sounds nice." He looked back to her and smiled, finding her shyness charming. He carefully observed the look of her face as the friendly ducks kept her entertained. 

"Where are you from?" she asked, not looking directly back at him. 

"I'm French, though I've lived here in America for several years now." Though it was no longer very heavy, his accent could still be distinguishable after eight years. 

"I've always wanted to go to France," she remarked, the last of the ice cream cone disappearing into the pool and the ducks' bills. Mr. Moreau's expression sank; he had never gone back to his homeland since moving. Then he thought that maybe, just maybe, he could make a promise for them to go if he managed to take her away with him at some point.

"Who was that boy you were with earlier?" the man tried not to sound too jealous or prying.

"Oh, that was my brother, Jackson," she answered, "Our parents went out to play golf and they told him to be nice and show me around the hotel, and stuff..." He was apparently right about the two being related. 

"But obviously he ditched me," she continued dismissively. Jackson must have used the heat as an excuse to take a break away from his sister. Mr. Moreau thought her to be incredibly sweet; how could anyone find her annoying? 

"And how long are you all staying here?"

"We're gonna be here until the 14th," Ann crossed her arms across the railing and laid her head on them, swinging a leg as she continued observing the ducks. 

Mr. Moreau couldn't contain his smirk. He had nine days to make her his - it sounded like plenty of time, an unusually long stay for them at the resort. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized it was still going to be quite a choke.

"And my birthday is on the 11th!" the girl jumped up suddenly, "I'm turning twelve." Eleven, going on twelve. To him it was a good age, at the very end of childhood and almost to the beginning of adolescence. _She should savor this childhood while she still has it,_ he thought darkly. If everything went as planned for him, her innocence wouldn't be lasting much longer.

"Why were you watching me swimming earlier?" her voice sounded through the summer air. 

Mr. Moreau felt his eyes sink into the back of his skull, and he zoned out into the garden before them. "Uh-" he stammered. He couldn't even begin to name the reasons why, all forbidden to anyone but himself. For now his true feelings had to be locked away until the girl managed to find the key.

She came closer with a gaze that was strangely enticing to him, but was probably not intended as she probed sweetly, "Did you think I was cute?"

Despite feeling utterly treed, he didn't see that she was asking out of any suspicion or distrust. "Well - yes..." he admitted, straightening his tie in vain. Ann giggled; lust didn't seem to be a concept she yet understood, thankfully.

Just a moment later, a buzz toned from the front pocket of her shorts. "Hm?" she reached into her pocket and unlocked her phone to find a new text, reading it for a moment. "Jackson just told me our parents told him they're coming back from golf, and they want all of us to meet at the lobby..." Both the man and girl were disappointed they had to separate so soon; he intently watched her text her brother back with a hushed sigh. 

"Can we text?" she offered her phone for them to exchange numbers, "Sometime later?"

"N-no," Mr. Moreau swallowed and gently enclosed her hand with her phone in it and pushed it back toward her. 

"Why not?" she frowned as he pulled away.

It wasn't at all suitable for him to explain his reason - that if he takes her, and tells her to leave it behind, investigators would look through her phone to read their texts and eventually track him down. His intentions would be far too easily foiled. So he dodged the question, "...I was thinking we could meet here again tomorrow, if that's possible?" Even if it weren't an issue, he would still rather see her face to face than be manifested into words on a screen.

"Yeah, I guess..." she slid her phone back into her pocket. 

"What time do you suppose you can?" he could only hope she had much free-time alone during her trip. If she didn't, his task would be much harder than it already was.

"Probably around noon. I think my parents are letting me and Jackson just do whatever a lot of times." Relieved, it was understandable that their parents wanted to take time to be away from their children during their vacation, which was going to be just perfect for him.

"Then I'll get here before then."

Ann nodded with a smile in response, beginning to step away from him. Before she could leave, he placed a firm hand on her shoulder, “Don’t tell them about me.”

“I wasn’t going to...but why?” a puzzled look crossed her face.

For a moment he hesitated, “-I’ll tell you why tomorrow.” However, he didn’t yet know what the reason to tell or show her would exactly be. Ann began to back away further, showing she was about ready to go, “Ok...” 

“Bye!" she exclaimed, turning to jog up the steps to the patio and disappearing back inside the hotel moments after. Once she was out of sight but certainly not out of mind, the Frenchman sighed with a smirk, leaning back against the bridge's railing and lighting a cigarette. 

The table was set, and soon enough he would feast.

* * *

Disappointed that she had to leave Mr. Moreau so soon, yet thrilled about their short meeting while it still lasted, Ann made her way down the main level's corridor to join her family in the lobby. Once there, she scanned the room to see if her parents were already back from the golf course, but instead she found her brother sitting on one of the ornate couches, tapping through his phone and chewing on some bubble gum he must have gotten from a machine somewhere else.

He never looked up from it as she approached and sat beside him. Picking up the cue, Jackson glanced at her for a split second before continuing to scroll away.

"So what was in the garden? Anything?"

"Yeah, there were some cute ducks," she said, "I fed my cone to them." And she met a mysterious and dreamy foreign man, too, she would have liked to add. Jackson huffed a little in begrudged amusement, believing she was too easily entertained. 

Ann leaned down a little in her seat to notice a red ball of bubble gum being held in her brother's left palm as he gripped the phone with it. She smiled. "Is that for me?" she asked in a teasing way.

"No, it isn't," he let go of his phone with that hand and brought the gum down to his side in a fist, away from her, "I was saving it for later, for _myself._ " The boy grimaced as he veered his face closer to hers and blew a small bubble with his old gum to emphasize his point.

"Your teeth will rot if you chew that much gum!"

"So you want _your_ teeth to rot?" Jackson retorted, "You're so full of crap..." 

Like lightning, the girl nearly leaped across her brother's lap on the couch and sabotaged his hand with the candy in it, prying open his fingers to take it out and pop it into her mouth. Jackson watched in exasperation as she returned to her normal position and began chewing the gum, smirking. "I swear to God..." he muttered.

She leaned against him, "What would mom and dad have said if they came in here and saw you not giving it to me?"

"They can't see me _not_ do something," he sat back and stared up at the balustrade in frustration.

"You know what I mean!" she blew a red bubble uncomfortably close to his face just when she saw their parents in their golf clothing coming through the front entrance tiresomely. She knelt up on the couch and waved to them, and their faces brightened at seeing their children, maneuvering around other furniture and people to approach them.

"Hey, kids," Mr. Clarke sighed as he stood before them on the couch, shaking his head, "They have a pretty tough course here." He uncapped and took a quick drink from his water bottle.

His wife nodded at his comment in full agreement, looking to her son, "Have you been treating her right, Jackson?" The boy shrank a little and glanced at his sister sitting against him, who gave him a wry smile as she chewed her gum. "Yeah..." he groused. Luckily for him, Ann wasn't planning to spill how he refused to go to the garden with her or give her his candy. 

"What's happening now?" Jackson asked, now that they were all together again.

"Well..." their father said, "me and your mother are pretty tired and I think it would be best if we all hang around here for the rest of the day."

"So are we going back to the room?" Ann stood from the couch and came closer to her mother. "I guess," the woman couldn't stifle her yawn. Ann and her parents had begun to turn away to head to the elevator, and Jackson groaned when he was forced to get up from the comfortable seating. Once he caught up, Mr. Clarke began to tell his children a story from their outing at the course, "Some old man completely lost his mind when his ball landed just an inch away from a hole in one..."

* * *

That afternoon after his girl of interest went to reunite with her family, Mr. Moreau had eventually returned to his room to take a lengthy siesta; it was about dinner time when his eyes slowly blurred open. Waking up on top of the bed with somewhat messy hair and a wrinkled dress shirt, he heaved himself up and rubbed his drowsy face as he sat on the bedside. He regretted to imagine how he would have felt in that moment if the earlier events from that day were all only a dream. 

It was going to be a struggle for him to take his mind off of Ann until he would see her again tomorrow, but at the moment a familiar hollowness occupied his stomach. For now, he had to worry about where his next meal would be coming from. 

The man just remembered that he hadn't seen his colleagues all day, with no sign of them at all while he was out. As much as he often detested being invited to do something with them, he actually began to wonder what they were going to be up to for the evening.

He may as well ask them about plans for dinner before they could come to ask him. Standing up, he went to the bathroom mirror to fix his hair with a comb and try to straighten his shirt before taking his blazer off the coat rack near the door and heading out.

At the first day they all arrived at the resort, Mr. Moreau managed to memorize where Mr. Abbott's room was located, but was unsure about the others'. It was on the same level as his, but in another wing of the building, and so he made his way down the long corridor and turned once to the left, carefully scanning the room numbers to reach what he believed was the American's room. Standing in front of it, he hoped he had remembered the number correctly, and knocked. Moments later, the door opened to show him the familiar face of Mr. Abbott, "Oh, hey, Claude..." The American glanced at the unexpected visitor. 

"Good evening," he replied, stone-faced.

There was a short moment of silence. "So...what's been happening?" his colleague briefly glanced behind him into the room.

"Not much today," the Frenchman lied, "I was going to ask where we could go to eat tonight."

"Oh..." his face brightened as he rubbed the back of his neck, "so you're feeling a bit better now, since yesterday?" Mr. Moreau nodded without words, and to his surprise he saw Mr. Reid and Mr. Brunton show up behind their friend in the doorway. Mr. Abbott backed out of the way a little to allow them more room.

"Hi, Claude," Mr. Reid said.

"...We've been hanging around in here; and I'm sorry, I know you don't really like us coming over to your room and being a nuisance," a moment of silence quickly followed Mr. Abbott's ramble.

Subsequently, Mr. Moreau changed the subject, "How did your 'gaming' turn out yesterday...?"

"It was pretty good. I profited in about $100, actually," Mr. Reid piped up as Mr. Abbott rolled his eyes and smirked.

"Dinner's on him!" Mr. Brunton joked, fisting the other's shoulder before exiting the doorway out into the hall, the other two following and laughing. "So where were you thinking about going to eat?" Mr. Abbott asked the Frenchman.

"I'm not sure. Did you have an idea?"

Mr. Brunton waved his hand, going down the hall with a head start toward an elevator, "I think we can figure it out once we get down there." As he trailed behind him along with the others, the Frenchman let go of some of his aversion for now, and didn't anticipate a short outing with them to end the day to be so bad after all.


	3. III

###### Wednesday, June 7th, 2017

Late the next morning, Mr. Moreau eyed nearly every detail of his reflection in the bathroom mirror, staring into the dreamy abyss of his own gaze for a moment and even evaluating the width of his lean shoulders under his dress shirt after he was finished shaving his face and gelling his hair. 

He felt he needed to look his very best for that day. Deciding to be a showoff to the girl, as opposed to the day before, he even arranged an outfit using the finest suit he had packed for the trip. Overdressing with this stuffy suit in the heat outside hardly mattered to him in this given situation; all he wanted was to give the very finest impression, and gradually come to woo her. 

Picking up his black tie from the bathroom counter, he meticulously knotted it under his shirt collar before heading back out to his suitcase to retrieve the waistcoat and jacket. Pulling both on and smoothing the jacket's material, he returned to the bathroom to go over the finished look. It looked far too similar to what he usually wore to his job, and so he really hoped he wouldn't run into his colleagues while he was out; they would be puzzled as to why he would dress that way on vacation. He couldn't come up with another excuse.

He almost forgot - cologne. The Frenchman rummaged through his bag of toiletries left on the counter to find a half-empty bottle of it which he had mindlessly packed out of habit. He sprayed a bit of the fragrance at the crook of his neck, just enough so that its scent wouldn't be too overpowering.

Finally, the man reviewed himself from several different angles. He didn't believe he had dressed this well in a long time. 

_Magnifique...she won't resist._

Mr. Moreau went to his nightstand to get his key card and wallet, dropping them into his pants' pocket before planting his feet in his shoes and quickly shutting the door behind him. As he headed down the hall toward an elevator, he didn't anticipate the girl to already be in the garden, but he wanted to be there significantly earlier than noon in case she had also decided to do the same. Ruefully, he had a feeling that yesterday she wasn't as thrilled to meet him as he was to meet her, and began to question whether she could ever return his feelings at all. If she didn't, he would never truly have her, and wouldn't know where to begin to find another like her.

* * *

Mr. Moreau gradually walked down the concrete steps from the massive patio, looking out over the familiar area where he had first spoken to Ann. Meanwhile, the same ducks from before swam around the pond anxiously, waiting for another friendly passerby to feed them again. Stepping off from the last few steps, the man approached the small, unoccupied bridge where he and the girl met, and much like they had the day before, leaned over its railing to peer down at the birds in the water. 

Several of them looked up to him with open bills, expecting pieces of bread - or ice cream cone - to come raining down. Mr. Moreau shook his head; they would have to wait for Ann to show up, if she would bother to bring anything for them that day in the first place.

For what must have been over ten minutes, the Frenchman wandered from that spot and strolled around the rest of the garden, keeping a careful watch of the entrance from the building for any sign of Ann, not allowing himself to worry. He then decided to stand under the oak tree near the edge of the pond, soon beginning to space out as he listened to the whispers of the fountains and the breeze.

He had been observing various plants arranged along the patio some distance away when he heard the voice of a little girl, "Hi, Mr. Moreau!" The man quickly snapped from his empty daydreams and turned his head in the direction the voice came, and his gaze fell upon his lovely Annabelle, who beamed as she jogged across the garden towards him. Let down and flowing behind her as she ran, her light brown hair had since been well-kempt after her time at the pool yesterday.

"Good morning, Ann," he leaned forward a little as she stopped before him, delighting in saying her name.

"I decided to come out before noon, also!" she said cheerfully as she looked up to him. 

Mr. Moreau smiled with warmth, "Yes...but I'm afraid I still beat you to it."

The girl glanced at him up and down, cocking an eyebrow curiously. "Do you have some fancy place to go to later?" she wondered, "Is that why you're dressed like that?"

"No," he inhaled, sheepishly replying as he shook his head, "no; I just try to look presentable, most of the time." It was a tempting question for him to ask her if she liked how he looked, just to see if his efforts were paying off, but that didn't seem appropriate at the moment.

"Oh," Ann replied quietly and looked at something behind him which had caught her attention. Unaware of it, Mr. Moreau began to enjoy how she came even closer, but then she tugged at his sleeve, pointing, "Do you know what that is?" The Frenchman turned around to see a large gazebo-like structure, standing on white pillars and roofed in red brick. 

"I'm afraid I don't..." of course he had seen it beforehand, but never felt compelled to visit it. The girl motioned for them to go to it together, and they both followed the concrete path to the entrance of the octagonal building. A cursive description on the frieze above them read, _World Famous Pluto Springs_. From there, its flooring was set deep within the ground. 

"Look!" Ann leaped down the steps to approach a well in the spring's center, surrounded partly by a metal guard railing. Historically, water must have been gathered from there. As she looked around the interior of the spring and gaped down the well's dark, empty chasm, he inwardly marveled at how investigative she seemed to be.

Mr. Moreau caught up to her and placed a hand on the railing, looking up at the interior friezes which read things like, _While here take our Mineral Baths_ , or _When NATURE WON'T Pluto will._

"Yes, a hundred years ago this place was best known for its mineral water..." he recalled from some of the research he had done as his trip there was being arranged, "but not anymore."

"Why would they stop using this?"

Their voices resonated against the concrete walls of the spring's foundation, "It must have been harmful, in some way." The man came around to position himself behind her as she looked down the well, arms crossed over its wall. He placed his hands protectively at either side of her on the well, and was almost frighteningly inclined to bend down and nuzzle her soft hair and neck. _For another time,_ he chastised himself.

Ann laughed slightly in mischief, continuing to gaze into darkness, "What do you think would happen if I jumped down there?" Pitch-black, the well almost looked like it had no bottom.

"...I would be deeply upset with you." Hypothetically, though, she would die before he would even have the chance to admonish her.

"It looks like I would fall through the center of the Earth!" she remarked, and Mr. Moreau chuckled in response.

It was just then that he looked back out of the spring for the first time since they entered it, and saw how the garden had become more active with resort guests since. Some people near the pond or on the benches around the garden had been facing roughly in their direction, though the man could not yet make out any suspicious glares of anyone who might have seen them together. The familiar feeling of apprehension, with eyes boring into him, had come back to haunt him from the day before, when he first recognized his affections for her. It was also worth noting for him that if he took her later, someone might recall the girl and a 'strange man' she was interacting with before her disappearance. Someone out there could have a photographic memory and be able to tell investigators exactly how he looked and had behaved around her. That scenario daunted him more than anything.

"Ann..." the man was beginning to feel himself sweat more than he anticipated he would under this suit, in this heat. Uneasily, he moved away from the girl, continuing to look out. He didn't wish to allow any suspicions to arise at all.

"Hm?" she lifted her head from the well to look to him. 

He wasn't quite sure whether to expect backlash from the imminent question, "How would you like if I took you to my room?" 

"What, are you getting too hot in that suit?" she grinned. He was beginning to, but it was the real reason which was causing that. 

"I think we would have more fun there," he softly told the girl as he looked back to her.

"Oh...sure," Ann stood up straight and moved away from the well, waiting for him to escort her. It ultimately didn't come as much of a surprise to him, how she hadn't really questioned it. This was good on his part, but at the same time worrying; if he happened to be someone more questionable than he was already - a serial killer came to mind - she could have been risking her life. 

Mr. Moreau stood in place and continued to stare beyond the steps going out from the spring, squinting. "Do you know where your brother is?" he asked.

"Yeah, when I left he said he just gonna stay in the room and watch TV."

He looked down at her beside him, "And your parents aren't in the hotel as we speak?"

"Nope," she shook her head.

As the man became lost in thoughts concerning her family, how blissfully ignorant they were of everything happening between them, he felt Ann pull at his wrist from in front of him. "What are you doing? Come on!" she said in good humor. Though she couldn't lead him to his own room, he let her eagerly pull him up the steps until they were on the garden's path again, out of the spring. She let go and allowed him to determine where they would go from there.

"This way," he murmured, starting off toward the steps up the balcony to the door in which he had originally come out from. As they ascended them side by side, Mr. Moreau looked behind them to the people enjoying the warm day in the garden below, where no one seemed to be watching them.

Moving up another flight of steps to the door and opening it for Ann to go in first, he looked out one more time before following her inside. He watched adoringly as she managed to saunter ahead of him down the short hall to the main lobby, stopping at its perimeter and glancing back at him with a grin.

As he caught up to her with most of his attention wandering elsewhere, to the many others in the lobby, he heard a dramatic gasp rise from the girl. "Oh no, there's Jackson!" she cried, pointing somewhere imprecise.

" _What-_ " Mr. Moreau nearly jumped out of his skin, scanning the entire lobby for the teenager for a moment until beside him, Ann had begun to double over and laugh uncontrollably. Her brother was nowhere to be seen. 

"Ann," he barely cracked a smile, fawning over her little joke and bringing a hand to his face in relief, "Please don't-"

She reined in her laughter and looked up to him with smiling eyes. "Did I scare you?" she mocked.

"Yes, you did," he bluntly replied and led her to an elevator near the front desk. She most certainly drew some attention to them from the visitors in the lobby, too, he regretted to think. Pressing its button and standing in front, within moments the elevator came down and opened with many guests pouring out of it with their luggage, leaving to check out. He coaxed Ann to move out of the way for them until the elevator was empty and they could go inside.

With nobody else following them in, the Frenchman thumbed the black button next to _'3'_ on the elevator's panel, and let the doors slide shut. After a soft jolt indicated they were moving, he made a sidelong stare at the girl beside him. Her large eyes gazed blankly at the position indicator above them, waiting patiently for its image to change from _'L'_ to _'2'_ to _'3'_. He almost wanted to say something, but then the doors opened to his room's given level. 

Stepping out, he led her left down the hall past a housekeeping cart and several employees preoccupied with cleaning a room, its door wide open. As they drew closer to his room, the man took the key card from his pocket and stopped in front of the door to swipe it. He pushed it open to let Ann inside first, then followed and shut the door behind them, setting down his key card and wallet back on the nightstand, "Here we are..." The air conditioning began to help him cool under his suit. 

His hotel room was a little different from the one which her family was staying in, with a more extensive living area with a couch, chair, coffee table, and only one queen-sized bed. Mr. Moreau’s luggage was neatly organized on the ottoman at the foot of the bed, with an extra pair of shoes and several folded dress shirts laying out over it. 

"Nice..." Ann said, "now what?" It was a great question, he believed. Now that they were both all alone in private, it was entirely possible for him to have his way with her, to smother her in kisses and feel her body against his own, to tell her exactly what she meant to him, not having a care on Earth how wrong it all was. But that probably wouldn’t be well received, no matter how easy she may have been to seduce up to this point. 

Even though he was being put on a tight nine-day schedule to claim her, it was much too soon for that. One of his principles as a spy was to practice great patience. Glancing, with hands behind his back, he quickly figured something else out to do with her for that day. 

"Yesterday you asked why I didn’t want you to tell anyone about me, yes?" 

"Yes," she reiterated. 

"It’s because..." he went over to his luggage, opening the suitcase to find a few items and take them out and drop them on the ottoman, "I work as a spy." Elaborating to her about his career and personal life would probably draw her interest to him further. 

"Really?" she asked eagerly, coming near him to see what he took out. He nodded wordlessly and held up a piece of dark gray fabric with several holes in it, something that was most important in getting away with what he was paid to do. He said, "Sometimes I must wear this mask whenever I’m sent out to gather information." Ann reached out to touch its silken material, an important piece it was. 

"Or a balaclava, as some call it," he added, looking down as he handled the mask, almost touching her hand as it was so close to his. 

She backed away, examining his face, "Can you put it on?” Mr. Moreau opened the bottom of the mask and pulled the stretchy material over his head, concealing his face and attempting to tuck the neck of it under his shirt collar. Normally, he would have put the mask on before his shirt. 

"You look like you’re gonna rob a bank!" she laughed after he was finished. With all of his hair tactfully hidden, he easily looked as if he were bald under the mask. His nose, cheekbones, and part of his jawline were also obscured with his eyes and mouth still perfectly visible. 

Beginning to take it back off, messing his hair a little, he replied, "That isn't something I've ever needed to do." He tossed it onto the ottoman and tried to think of what to tell her about her next, smoothing back his hair. Glancing at his wrist, he didn't think it would be a good idea to show her his invisibility watch, something known by anyone else who wasn’t a spy as impossible to exist. It may have been an impressive piece of technology, but it wouldn’t be worth scaring her with it, and possibly losing her trust. 

Seeing the gloves he had laid out, he picked them up and slipped them on, flexing his fingers in them and trying to loosen the dark leather material after having not worn them in a while. "And these are so I don’t leave behind fingerprints on anything I touch," he went to sit on the side of the bed as he looked down at them, with the girl doing the same. Experimentally, he held his open hand up to see if she would touch it; she accepted the gesture a little shyly and pressed her hand against his to compare their sizes. Her fingertips only reached the middle joints of his own fingers. 

"I want to see how they fit..." she murmured, taking her hand away from his own before he had the chance to cleverly close his fingers over it. Although it should have been obvious they wouldn't, he gave into her interest anyway. With the gloves, he stood up to kneel down in front of her as she rested on the bedding, gently taking her small hands and putting them on. He then released them to let her assess how they fit, much too over-sized. As she wiggled her fingers, the material only roughly followed their movement. 

"Too big," she said simply, stilling her hands as the man reached for them again. Enclosing them on top of one another, Mr. Moreau brought both her gloved hands close to his face and kissed the knuckles tenderly. 

After a moment of silence, the man holding her hands close, he lifted his head for his gaze to meet hers. She had watched him intently, but then glanced away and smiled, with pink beginning to lightly gather on her cheeks. 

He had tested her limits in that moment, and she seemed to have passed. Ann began to lift her hands to take off the gloves when he took hold of them again and pulled them off for her, standing up to take them back to his luggage. 

As he approached to sit back down with her, Ann broke the silence, "When I used to think of spies I always thought of someone who lies to everyone and never tells them what they do, or what they really think...you seem different." With conflicting feelings for what she said, his eyes furrowed. If he took her away, he would have to lie to everyone - strangers, his colleagues, possibly even law enforcement in order keep them both under the radar. But simultaneously, her statement showed him that he seemed trustworthy to her. 

With no reply to it, Mr. Moreau strayed to a different subject, "What plans do you and your family have for your birthday?" It was next Sunday, he recalled. 

"I don't really know what we're doing other than going out to a fancy place to eat, that night. Why?" 

The man shrugged, staring out into the room, "I was only wondering." An idea had actually come to his mind - he could make an extra challenge for himself to obtain her before then, so that she could spend her birthday only with him rather than her family. The outlook to have her in the first place so far looked promising to him, but in order for this to work out, he'd have to find a way to win her over entirely in only four days. 

She piped up, "Wait...when's _your_ birthday? I forgot to ask before." 

Somewhat hunched, he looked at his hands, "I was born March 15th." 

"Year?" 

He turned to her wearily, wondering why his exact age was important to her, "1970." 

"So that means you're..." she glanced as she did the math mentally, "forty-seven?" He nodded and she began to laugh, "I thought you were younger!" 

"How old did you assume I was?" he smiled and asked, a little flattered. 

__

__

"Like, forty," she replied shyly, "I mean, it doesn't really matter, though..." 

As silence fell upon them again, Mr. Moreau reached into his suit jacket for his wallet and opened it, sorting through slots of cash, cards, and his ID to find something else in particular that had been nearly forgotten about. "I want you to have this..." Between his finger and thumb, he held out a copper Euro, a five-cent piece minted in 2003. After over eight years away from the country, it was the only French coin left in his possession. All the others had either been lost or exchanged for US currency. 

He handed it to her, allowing her to see it. She observed the face of a young woman surrounded by stars on the head of the coin and asked, "Who's that?" 

"That is Marianne, a national symbol for France. She is meant to represent freedom." 

She squinted at the engraving before looking back to him, "So kind of like the bald eagle?" 

"I suppose...but she never existed." 

Ann inspected the coin more, including its tail which depicted a globe centered on Europe before putting it away in her shorts' pocket. "Thanks," she grinned, "I'll keep it forever." In case she opted not to be his, whether he would decide to ask before or after her birthday, he meant to give it to her as something to remember him by when they would be forced to go their separate ways. However, he still hoped she wouldn't have to use it for that purpose. 

The man looked away from her as he put away his wallet in his jacket, but she must have still noticed his sunken expression and could see how much he missed his country. 

"Why did you leave France?" she murmured almost morosely. 

He inhaled slowly before sighing, "My agency there believed that my potential couldn't be fulfilled as long as I worked only for them. They told me that there would be better opportunities for me in America, which they were absolutely right about. I really have accomplished more in my career since being here." He was never forced to leave, but had followed his heart like so many other forward-looking immigrants over the centuries who wanted a taste of the American Dream. 

"But you miss it, don't you?" The man could see an understanding, an empathy in her eyes which he couldn't remember seeing in anyone else who he had spoken with in a long time. 

"Of course," he breathed. 

After a few moments of thought, Mr. Moreau scooted closer to her on the bedding and carefully brought an arm around her shoulders, watching closely for any reluctance from her. To his utter surprise, her lips drew into a smile and she actually leaned closer to him, allowing him to pull her into his embrace. 

"I'm fond of you, _petite fille_..." 

She giggled lightly and returned the hug; it was becoming difficult for him to resist burying his face under her hair and to plant kisses along her neck and shoulder. Sniffing subtly at a body spray she must have used, something like sweet pea, he ended the embrace before he could take things too far. 

"I think I should go now," Ann mumbled after she pulled away. 

He worried that he had made her uncomfortable, but couldn't quite read that in her expression, "Why?" 

"...My parents are supposed to be coming back for lunch, and I don't know when." 

He nodded in understanding, and the two sat together for a few moments more, reluctant to separate. "Tomorrow I want you to meet me here at my door," he told her gently, moving a strand of hair away from her face, "Do you think you can remember where it is?" 

"Mhm." Without necessarily memorizing the room number, she could recall which story and wing of the hotel it was in. 

"Alright..." he let off of Ann for them both to stand up, following her to the door. As he opened it for her she wrapped an arm around his torso a final time before stepping out into the hall. 

"Have a good day!" she cried, and peering past the doorway, he was awed as she laughed and tore down the corridor with boundless energy. Rolling his eyes and smirking as he stepped back to shut the door, the sudden change in her temperament didn't make much sense to him, but at the same time, he realized his charms were certainly making an effect on her. Though earlier he was doubtful, that day she already reciprocated some of his affections, and soon he would expect all of them to be. 

* * *

Ann wished she had looked back and seen Mr. Moreau's face when she left him behind; out of breath and waiting for the elevator to arrive, she beamed as she stared down to the end of the hall from whence she came. His door had been shut. 

The elevator's tone soon sounded and she was prompted to enter with a small family who was already inside with a luggage cart. 

"Which floor are trying to get to, hon'?" a middle-aged woman asked. Ann positioned herself in the middle and turned to face the front, "The fourth." She eyed the panel and noticed that the button _'4'_ had already been chosen. 

"Well, that's good. That's where our room is," the woman chortled as the doors shut, "Won't have to skip around levels and all that weird stuff..." 

Soon, the group found themselves at the given level and Ann stepped out to allow the family to push their cart out into the hall more easily. As they went their separate ways and she made the journey back to the Clarkes' hotel room, the girl reflected on what she had learned about Mr. Moreau that day. Being a spy, it made sense to her how reserved he seemed, but she speculated why he held such a particular interest in her over anyone else. 

Did he _like_ her, she wondered? Only just getting out of sixth grade, she knew very little about relationships besides the small crushes and juvenile 'dates' her classmates sometimes teased and gossiped with each other about. The man was very gentlemanly with her, but he may have acted that way towards all women and girls. However, when they were together she could see a certain look of admiration in his eyes strangely different from that which her family had always given her. 

In all honesty, if it were true that was what he wanted with her, she wouldn't mind experimenting with him during her time at the resort. Not minding his age, she found him reasonably attractive in both his mannerisms and appearance, how sharply he liked to dress and his cordial treatment of her as mentioned before. The deep melancholy he had for his homeland also intrigued her to a point where she almost wished she could relate, to feel just what he felt. 

She had heard before, though, that it was inappropriate for an adult to be in a relationship with a child and this was one of the main reasons the "stranger danger" doctrine was persuaded in children from early on in their lives. At Jackson's high school, she had even come to know about several scandalous flings some students had before with their teachers, in which they had soon disappeared from the campus, revoked of their careers and taken off to prison. 

Because of how reprehensible it would be if anyone found out about it, Ann actually realized getting into a relationship with Mr. Moreau would be thrilling. And she had an idea for something they could do during their meeting tomorrow, where she could test how he really felt about her. 

Smirking as she finally reached the door to her family's room and unlocking it with her key card, she walked in to see that Jackson was in the exact same place his sister had left him, on the chair pulled out in front of the TV, though now snacking on some potato chips the family had brought. 

He sneered at her as she closed the door and took off her shoes, bringing a chip to his mouth, "The hell are you smiling about?" 

"Nothing..." Ann mused, entering further into the room lazily and jumping to sit upon the bed. 

Jackson turned his attention back to the TV as he chewed, "What, did you see someone you like?" 

"No," she lied and wrinkled her nose defensively. Making sure her brother looked away, she took the copper Euro out of her pocket to look at it again; it was older than she was, but still held most of its luster. She could tell that Mr. Moreau had taken good care of it the whole time he had lived in America, but she certainly didn't believe he was upset to give it up to her. 

"What's that?" Jackson's voice brought her back to reality, and she lifted her head to see him twisted in the chair to look at what she held with such great interest, having a puzzled expression. Silently, Ann glowered at him; she would never allow him to know who gave it to her. 

As if demanding an answer, Jackson suddenly stood from his chair to rush over to her and grabbed at her hands which concealed the object. The girl tried yanking her hands away from him in vain and kicked out at his torso as he pushed her further against the bed, "Freaking stop! I'm going to tell dad!" Jackson managed to pry open one of her hands when the coin flew out, landing on the carpet with a quiet thud and conveniently rolling under the bed. Ann gasped and nearly smacked him in the face as she struggled to sit up again. She would do anything not to lose that coin. 

"But where did you get it?" her brother demanded as they both rushed to lay on the floor and search under the bed. With its comforter and very low bed frame almost reaching down to the floor, their view under it was obscured. 

"I _found_ it!" she shouted, her voice muffled under the bed. Within moments she did actually find the Euro as her fingers came upon its cold metal again and backed out with it in her hand. She curled up on the floor in defense when she anticipated Jackson to pounce, but instead he only knelt as he stared at her, aggravated, wondering why that insignificant thing was so valuable to her. 

He stood up from his knees and started back toward his chair, "Whatever...I guess it's none of my business..." After a moment she also stood and went to take the coin to her luggage between the two beds, inspecting it and trying to rub any dust off from when it was under the bed before hiding it away in a pouch where she kept her other cash. One could suppose it was an immigrant among all the US currency. 

Ann flopped down on the bed and sighed, face buried against the pillow as she looked to her brother out of the corner of her eye. 

"Do you know when mom and dad are coming back..?" she mumbled. 

Jackson made no reply, but she wasn't sure whether he was ignoring her or couldn't hear her over the TV. 

"I said do you know w-" 

"No, I don't know!" he snapped, never once looking at her. Ann shook her head in annoyance and rolled over to stare at the wall next to the bed. She gradually let herself slip into daydreams about the next time she would see Mr. Moreau, how she could toy with him, what she could find out about him, never realizing that she was falling asleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I get that this last scene might make it look like she knows what she's getting into, but she's still a minor and ultimately the victim of Moreau's schemes. Same goes for everything that comes after this.


	4. IV

###### Thursday, June 8th, 2017

Well-past sunrise that morning, the Clarkes had languidly dressed and ventured down to the Grand Colonnade restaurant to find out for the first time how the resort's breakfast held itself. Jackson in particular had asked their parents if the hotel offered breakfast, to which the man replied 'yes', but they had avoided it so far during their stay due to its price and that they could substitute their more costly food with some items they had brought along on their trip for themselves.

Of course, Jackson was tired of granola bars and _had_ to try more of the resort's food.

"Fine...and it's a buffet, so it better be worth it, Jack," Mr. Clarke sighed as they all headed out the door. Downstairs, upon reaching it, the family found they had to pay upfront before they were allowed to seat themselves. Ann admired the restaurant's classical theme, with ornate designs and chandeliers lining the ceiling and a small bouquet of flowers presented at the center of each mahogany table. She could see how people probably paid more for the experience eating there, rather than the food itself.

The Clarkes wandered for a table to claim as many others ate, soon settling for a half booth built into the room divider. Mrs. Clarke set down her purse in one of the chairs. "Ok," her husband nodded, glancing around the main dining area and then to the buffet nearby, "Let's go grab a few plates."

Approaching the buffet busy with guests making their choices and cooks donned in white preparing the food behind the counters, they all stood together in front of it and eyed the many options of fare available. Mr. Clarke was drawn to the omelet bar, unable to resist the smell of eggs as they seared in frying pans, and Mrs. Clarke had gone her own way to make coffee.

Ann stuck near Jackson as they went to look at a bar with fresh fruit and yogurt. Picking up a plate and taking a few chunks of cantaloupe with the tongs, the girl thought she could see a familiar figure out of the corner of her eye.

She looked to the dining area and at a small table for two adjacent to the windows some fifteen feet away, Mr. Moreau was seated with a cup of espresso and plate with only a few remnants of whatever he must have eaten sometime earlier, fully invested in a magazine he had laid out in front of him. Glancing back to Jackson, who was turned away from her as he was preoccupied with getting his breakfast, she almost thought of waving to gain the man's attention. 

While her brother decided to wander away where bacon was being served, she pretended she couldn't decide which kind of fruit to have next, standing in place at the bar as she looked between trays and occasionally back to Mr. Moreau.

 _Look at me,_ she wished she could call to him. She watched closely as he mixed a spoon in his coffee and brought the cup to his mouth, finally looking up to observe the room and other guests surrounding him. 

Ann beamed when his eyes came around to settle on her. His face, so somber and dispassionate before, lit up upon seeing the girl, and she took full note of that. She glanced one more time over at Jackson, set down her plate, and pulled her phone from her pocket to feign checking it in case her brother looked back, though never once really looking at it. Hi, she mouthed.

Mr. Moreau slowly pressed a finger to his lips, a slight simper creeping along them before disappearing as his eyes flicked to glare at her oblivious brother. Ann meanwhile copied his gesture, snickering and swaying a little in her stance shyly, before looking down at her phone. The man let down his finger and continued to eye Jackson warily for a few moments, then she noticed the way his attention frantically returned to the magazine, seemingly shutting her out.

"What is so funny?" she heard Jackson drawl as he came up from behind. _Of course, that's why,_ she rolled her eyes. His sister picked her plate off the counter and turned to face him, scrolling on her phone, "Oh, I just saw something - on Twitter..."

With his own plate piled on with his breakfast, Jackson gave her a questioning look, probably unsure why she had gotten almost nothing on hers. Nevertheless, he shook his head and started off toward the table their family had claimed. "Their memes can't be that good," he said.

As the teenager left her behind he briefly turned back and pointed, "No, actually, Twitter memes are garbage." Ann scoffed, at least he actually bought what she told him, and quickly gathered enough food from the buffet to make a reasonable meal out of. Once Jackson had sat down and begun letting his black hole for a stomach suck in his food, she brought her gaze back to the Frenchman at his table. For a moment, his expression was unreadable as he watched her until he gave a small smile and looked away once more, as if dismissing her. She glanced and reluctantly left to join Jackson and their parents at their table, where she wouldn't be able to see the man from.

Sitting with them in the chair next to her mother and picking at her food, she was truly frustrated how she couldn't go and sit with Mr. Moreau instead - for them to say good morning to each other, possibly discuss his reading, and make specific plans for them later in the day when she would be able to tear herself away from her family.

"I think this food here is actually pretty good," Mr. Clarke said across from her as he swallowed the last bit of his omelet, "How's yours, Ann?"

"It's okay," she answered indifferently. The situation seemed to have degraded her meal as well as her mood. She hadn't been awake for even two hours and was already growing tired of the people she was expected to cherish the most. Realistically, Mr. Moreau couldn't possibly be an equivalent after only knowing him for two days, and being a spy, there was probably an entire world he was hiding deeply away from her. All the same, that was exactly what she wanted to find with him. 

Ann must have pondered about the double agent for at least ten minutes before the Clarkes had finished up the last of their food, though some of hers went to waste. She wasn't bothered to finish it off as the others were preparing to leave.

After she and her family had cleaned up after themselves and went to leave the restaurant, she stood on her toes to peer past the room divider to the table Mr. Moreau had been. To her disenchantment, he was gone, with not a trace of him left behind.

* * *

Mr. Moreau paced back and forth across his room, with a window left wide open and sheer curtains undulating from the warm breeze outside. A look of concern wrinkled his brow and sank his eyes as he held the cigarette between his fingers, his main method of relieving his stress for years. He had expected Ann to show up in front of his door at around noon, the time they had been together the day before; now it was after one o'clock. What if she wasn't able to visit at all that day? In part, it would be a waste of the short allotment he had to lure her away with him, but there was next to nothing he could do about that.

He thought back to the short, endearing incident between them at breakfast. Even if it was only for a few fleeting moments, it was very pleasant for him to see the girl at the Grand Colonnade a few hours earlier, when she finally caught his attention from his seat as he was finishing up his meal. The sleepy look in her eyes from the morning laced with some kind of fondness for the man had intrigued him, maybe even aroused him deep down. It was certainly a step up from their first day together, he thought triumphantly, when she was all timidity. 

He was lounging in his chair near the open window and taking a drag from his cigarette when he heard a soft rapping at the door, and whipped his head around to face it. He swore, if it was Mr. Abbott...

The man quickly put out his cigarette, dropped it out the window, and tried to waft some of the room's air that had been hazed in smoke outside before approaching his door. Not touching the chain lock just yet, he pressed his face against the peephole and looked out. Out of the small hole he could barely catch the top of somebody's head as they stood in the hallway. It must have been her. Relieved, Mr. Moreau unchained the door and opened it to see Ann staring one way down the hall before her attention was quickly drawn to him.

She smiled, glancing with her arms in front of her, "Hey..."

"There you are," he sighed, "I was beginning to think you wouldn't show up. Come in." He stepped away from the door to give her space to go inside, narrowing his eyes and looking down the hall the way she had been. He barely noticed someone disappearing into the elevator, and whoever it was, he hoped they had paid the girl no mind. 

Closing the door, he turned and watched as Ann went to stand near the bed, "I'm sorry I got here later than usual."

"It's quite alright," he nodded. He didn't bother to ask why; it surely had to do with her parents leaving for an activity which they had planned unusually later in the day. All that mattered was that she was able to visit at all, for him to take in the lovely sight and personality of her.

"About-" he cleared his throat of the smoke from before, "-when we saw each other at breakfast...do you and your family go there everyday?"

She laughed after being reminded of it, sitting down on the bed, "No, that was our first time eating there, but I think we'll be going again. Do you?"

"I'm not planning on it, now."

Disappointment crossed her face, "...Is it because of Jackson?" Mr. Moreau was brought to think of how her brother may have reacted if he noticed a strange, older man leering at her from afar. Even if Jackson often treated Ann with scorn, a familial bond still united the two, and he would very likely protect his sister no matter what it cost him.

She looked away and fidgeted with her hands, "Because when I was at the buffet with him you looked kind of nervous." The risk they took that day alone, the two of them longingly meeting eyes when her brother was just near enough to notice, was far too great. 

"I don't want to be seen by your family at all," he replied sternly and sat down on the soft bedding closely beside her, "because we can't ever let them know about us under any circumstance, can we?" For those with a particularly watchful eye, like eagles, anyone else might have caught on as well, which he had long realized when they were together in the garden the day before.

"Nope..." she shook her head candidly, in an agreement which seemed almost unsettlingly blind to him. 

"Now, with all of that aside...did you have something in mind for us today?" He allowed her to be in initiative so he could assess where she felt they were in their relationship. Normally the man had always been self-seeking, but at this time, her own feelings were of utmost importance to him.

Ann didn't maintain eye contact, glancing at the floor as the gears seemed to grind in her head. "If anything?" he smiled, leaning in a little closer with an arm situated behind her. She looked back to him and smirked, a cue that a clear idea lingered somewhere in her head.

"There must be something...I see it," he teased as a glint appeared in her eyes. She slid off the bed, "We have to sit on the floor for it!" The girl chose a spot near the foot of the bed, in front of the TV's entertainment center. As Mr. Moreau got up to follow suit, she rested on the carpet in a kneeling position and watched him eagerly.

"Why must we be on the floor?" his voice strained as he lowered himself in front of her, a joint cracking. 

"Because this is how me and my friends play it."

"Play what?"

"Truth or dare."

Oh yes, a child's game often reserved for slumber parties late on weekend nights or recess during the school day. It was a test of their friendships. Mr. Moreau tried to recall a French equivalent from his own childhood decades ago, but his mind came up blank, "I don't believe I've ever played it."

"Never...?" genuinely surprised, her bright eyes widened, to which he shook his head. _Shocking,_ he thought with amusement. She glanced, "Ok, so...you pick either truth or dare, and then I have to ask a question or tell you to do something. Truth or dare?"

"Truth."

Ann twisted to face back toward the window he had left open near the chair. She lifted her head a little and her nose wrinkled as she sniffed the air, "Is it true that you smoke?" 

She sounded almost accusing to him, "...Yes." There was a reason why he hadn't smoked in front of her; many of those in or around her generation found it vile. He supposed he couldn't hide it forever, though. The girl turned back to him and shifted her legs out from under her, "I don't think you're supposed to smoke in this hotel."

"Just as we aren't supposed to be together?" he dared to question. A tense silence followed, filling the room. 

"Oh..." Ann shrank. The Frenchman wasn't sure if she had realized it before. He stood up to make his way over to the window, smirking, “You see, I have no regard for it.” Finding that most of the smell had gone, he shut it and drew closed the heaviest layer of curtains, casting himself and that end of the room in shadow. When he returned to his spot in front of her, he was prompted shyly, "Your turn, now."

"Truth or dare?" he asked.

"Dare."

Mr. Moreau thought carefully; he didn't wish to force her to do anything indecent. "I dare you-" he reached for his shirt collar and unraveled his black tie, "-to put my tie over your eyes."

Grinning, she didn't question it and took the improvised blindfold from his hands and veiled her eyes, tying it in a knot behind her head. He noticed her looking around and blinking behind the fabric, possibly straining to see through its opaqueness, but found she couldn't. 

"Oh, no..." she joked, "Everything looks like - death!" To his surprise the girl threw her arms out dramatically, and in an awkward position, she flopped down against the carpet like a rag doll, playing dead. Mr. Moreau chuckled for a moment until he found himself entranced by her form as she kept up her act, laying perfectly still in front of him. "But _ma petite fille_ isn't dead, is she?" he purred, moving to observe the girl more closely in his want, now that she couldn't see him. His eyes softened further as their gaze moved from the shirt slightly coming off the shoulder down to her waifish midriff, hips neatly traced by the waist of her shorts. In that moment he couldn't imagine she had any idea how perfect she looked to him.

"Is she?" he placed a hand on her thigh and caressed it gently, and after seeing no reaction from her, he removed it and got down so that he was laying on the floor just beside her. With his index finger he carefully began to withdraw the blindfold from one eye, murmuring, "What will I do without-"

A burst of laughter from Ann cut him off in the same instant, and Mr. Moreau joyously wrapped his arms around her to pull them both back up into a sitting position. When she brought her hands up to the tie he intervened, reaching behind her head to untie the knot and let it off her face for her. Not bothering to wear it again, he held the crumpled tie in his fist against the floor as he waited for her question.

"Truth or dare?"

"Truth."

A smile, barely noticeable, appeared, and her question soon followed, "Is it true that you're married?"

Mr. Moreau swore that she understood exactly how risqué that had come off to him. If he was, surely this nonexistent wife would have been staying at the resort with him. Maybe she even wanted him to be flustered...

He only shook his head to drive away those thoughts and replied stoically, "I've never been married."

Ann brought her knees up to her face and bashfully hid behind them, hugging her legs. He could see her smiling eyes gazing to meet his, and that which seemed so far beyond his reach when he first had her in his sights could have been very plausible, now. Moving on reluctantly, the Frenchman continued their game, "Truth or dare?"

"Truth."

"Is it true that-" he faltered, "that..." 

_...You want me as I do you?_

Mr. Moreau felt as though he were a schoolboy again.

As she waited earnestly for his question, he took in the girl's age, how unexposed she was to the world and countless experiences to be had in life. The man hadn't been certain what she wanted out of him this entire time, but neither was she. 

After so many years spent womanizing he couldn't bring himself to materialize that simple question to her. "Hm," tapping a finger against the carpet, his blue eyes moved to look anywhere but the girl he longed for so much. She laughed at his misgivings, however unaware she was of their significance, "It's okay if you can't think of anything! Truth or dare?"

"Dare," he tensed, gripping the tie against the floor. 

"I dare you..." she scooted closer in front of him, "to kiss me."

Maybe, in spite of it all, he could allow the question he had almost asked before to be undoubtedly answered in that dare. His heart began to race in his chest and he shuddered as she tilted her head up towards him with soft lips slightly pursed as an offering. Any sane man would have rejected it, feeling mortified at the idea of giving into the feeble, uninformed wishes of a child, or instead would rather leave only a guiltless kiss on the cheek. However, Mr. Moreau, in all his desperation, was about to full advantage.

Slowly, in disbelief, he shifted until he was close enough to take Ann's lips with his own for the first time. He was riveted by the sweetness of her small, warm mouth, unlike that of any other he had kissed in his life. The girl laughed into his mouth, which must have only tasted bitter with smoke and wine - flavors curious to her along with the experience. As their kiss deepened, he claimed her hand with his free one and entwined their fingers on the carpet. 

Mr. Moreau finally pulled away and pressed his forehead to hers. "I knew you liked me," she giggled. 

"Yes..." he crooned, exhaling and nuzzling his face into her neck, his stubble scratching against it. The girl meanwhile let go of his hand and pried open the other one holding his tie. He allowed her to take it from him and reach over his head to wrap it under his shirt collar, idly observing her attempt to tie it again. 

She had done the knot wrong, but Mr. Moreau couldn't complain, even deciding he would leave it that way. He drew her close into his embrace.

As he nibbled along her jaw, he almost forgot she had never asked for his first name. "I'd like you to call me Claude, from now on," he whispered in her ear.

"Like Claude Monet?"

In his near-drunken state of lust, he almost moaned in approval as he held her. The man was beginning to place feverish kisses under her chin and a possessive arm around her shoulders when a familiar tone sounded from one of Ann's pockets. With hesitance, he had to let her go, and she reached into her pocket to go through her messages. Not looking up from the phone, she said, "Jackson wants me to come back so we can get something to eat together...” 

Mr. Moreau rolled his eyes as she was preoccupied with typing her short reply. _That boy...!_ he fumed on the inside. It seemed Ann could sense his frustration when she put the device away and continued, "I mean, if I don't, later he's probably gonna be like, 'what were you doing that was more important than getting lunch?'" 

Put in that way, it was understandable - he couldn't quite trust her to think of an excuse persuasive enough to cover the fact that she had really gone to make out with a grown man in his hotel room. 

The Frenchman finally stood up from the floor and smoothed his jacket, "Then I suppose you'd best be going." He then offered his hand to help her to her feet, which she accepted gladly and pulled herself up with before heading to the door. When they stopped before it, Ann turned back to him, and he bent down slightly to allow her to give him a final kiss on the cheek goodbye. "See you," she said as he opened the door to let her out.

After she had gone to return to her brother, Mr. Moreau strode to the couch at the far end of his room and rested on it, hands clasped in his lap and chest low as if in prayer. Maybe he was, that what occurred wasn't a dream and meant just what he foresaw - that there was a great chance she would agree to stay with him, for them both to leave behind their old ways and begin a new chapter in life. 

He felt he owed his colleagues a visit later.

* * *

All that evening Mr. Moreau could not think straight; instead of listening intently to the conversations between his cohorts while he spent his time out with them, he let them fade to the background, hopelessly obsessing in a lovestruck daze over what had just sparked between him and the young girl that afternoon. She had asked him to kiss her, without a single doubt or hesitation. It felt to the man that she didn't find one thing imperfect about him, every silver hair an accent rather than a fault of aging. Now he knew just the way she liked him; the girl wasn't being a tease or only looked to him as a father whenever she embraced him.

Now that he was back in his room and tumbling down a slippery slope of hormonal, primal urges, he wished he could tear the entire suit off his body at once. Hastily, he removed all the garments from his upper body before his pants and socks, only leaving himself in his underwear as he threw himself onto the bed. The man felt the exhaustion from his evening out weighing him down like anchors as he climbed under the covers, but arousal still throbbed through his blood, nagging to be released.

Pressing his face into his pillow, Claude reached under himself to pull out his cock, its erection already quickly beginning to grow. He pictured having the girl pinned stark naked against his bed, doll-like blue eyes gazing up at him longingly. Squeezing his eyes shut, he inhaled as he touched his length.

As Mr. Moreau soon became lost in his fantasy of claiming Ann, robbing her of her innocence, he had subconsciously grabbed onto the pillow and turned it vertically; it was about the size of her torso, he found. Continuing to stroke himself, he mounted the pillow and salaciously kissed and licked its fabric in place of the soft skin of the little girl's shoulders and chest.

"Oh, Ann..." he moaned in a hushed voice, " _Je t'aime...je t'aime._ " He made steady, lecherous movements with his hips against the pillow, the underside of his cock brushing against it with each thrust. Gradually, the friction grew unbearable. 

" _Dieu-_!" he growled as he spurted onto the side of his pillow, spasming against it in ecstasy. As the pleasure disappeared from his nerves, he slowly came off the pillow and took its soiled cover off, pulling it inside out and tossing it to the floor carelessly to be washed by housekeeping the next day. 

Laying in the dark and staring out at the small living area next to him obscured by twilight, Mr. Moreau let his breathing settle until he eventually couldn't keep his eyes open anymore.

_Elle m'appartiendra._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It really shouldn't have been, but this chapter was the death of me. 
> 
> Oh and the next time you stay in a hotel think of how this guy treated the bedding. Someone who was in that room before you could have literally done the same thing and the staff probably don't wash their shit as much as they should. You're welcome.


	5. V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up that this chapter will have a few short POV switches in the same scene, as will some in future chapters. I hope it isn't too jarring.

###### Friday, June 9th, 2017

His cigarettes mocked him.

Mr. Moreau had set out his pack of cigarettes and lighter on the sill of his 'smoking window' - it was just to keep them off his person, just for a while until the day was out, whether or not Ann would have been there to see him. He had distanced himself from that window and chair next to it by resting on the couch instead, but he found himself staring at them still. _She isn't coming,_ he could hear them say, tormenting him. All that day the man had managed to abstain from smoking; he made a vow to himself before to make sure he and his room wouldn't smell of it whenever Ann came to visit him from then on. 

It was four o'clock, and the girl wasn't there yet - but he still persisted, not quite running out of hope. He figured that his desire to please Ann must have been even stronger than his deep-seated one for nicotine. It was difficult for him to recall ever feeling that way for any of the women he was once with. One of them, in fact, had come to resent him and they broke up over his smoking habit alone, he remembered with a sad sort of fondness.

He bent over in his seat and examined some of the bony details of age in his hands for a while, frowning. His long, arduous wait had finally paid off when he recognized the soft pattern of knocks against his door. At last, after a few hours waiting there patiently, he could heave himself off the couch to answer to Ann, his mind switching from one obsession to his other.

Mr. Moreau gave a relieved smile when he opened to see her. "Hi..." she hummed, moving past him to go inside and take her feet out of her flip-flops without him needing to prompt her. She seemed unusually shy, but he supposed it was expected after remembering what happened between them yesterday. He hoped he was only looking too far into things to see that she may have looked contrite - that it wasn't a good idea how she willingly gave away her first kiss to someone she may have never intended to be with, long-term. 

After shutting the door, he was torn away from his thoughts when she smiled up at him sheepishly, "Did I make you wait literally all day?"

He glanced at his wallet, watch and key card laid out on the nightstand; they had been left in the exact same spot since last evening. 

"Yes," he said, "but it wasn't an issue for me."

Once again just glad that she was still there to be with him, the man reached and guided her by the back close to him, and she wrapped her arms around his suited trunk. Keeping her close, he recalled that the girl's birthday was only two days away. Maybe as an early 'present' for it, he would offer her his final inquiry, so long as he could find something to use, and the audacity to use it, as a certain influence on her decision...

He gazed past over her head to the series of windows letting in white light that stretched across the floor to them. "What would you like for us to do today, Ann?" his question was more rhetorical, than anything. An inherent politeness had called upon him to ask anyway. 

Mr. Moreau's voice was enjoyable as it resonated against her ear from within him. She shrugged and mumbled against his chest, "I don't know."

"I have an idea..."

As he began to pull away from the embrace her eyes brightened, "What's that?"

"Come here," he took her by the hand and led her around the bed to the chair next to the window that accompanied it. Still keeping a hold of it when he turned to take a seat, he pulled gently to encourage her to sit on his lap. He shifted to accommodate her weight as she clambered up to settle on his thigh and turned so that her back faced against him, almost as if in disrespect. 

Mr. Moreau had wished for her to face him, but nevertheless relished in feeling the girl's body in such close contact with his. He wrapped his arms around her small waist and drew her even closer, setting his chin on her shoulder and letting out a soft sigh. He could just see the corner of her awkward smile as she spoke, "We've never been this close."

"But do you like it?" the Frenchman nudged his face against her neck, under her hair. He swore that he could almost distinguish the scent of the shampoo she must have last used.

"...Yeah."

They sat, simply enjoying each other's company and the quiet of the room for a minute until he murmured closely to her ear, "I enjoyed our kiss yesterday..."

Ann turned her head to face him, seeing it was his way of asking for another one. She smirked, leaning in to give him a peck on the lips, and he smiled gently, " _Merci._ "

He would curb his greed for more. Instead, the man let his eyes become entranced over the highlights in her caramel hair as they shone in the sunlight flowing in through the window. It reminded him of when he first witnessed her during that hot day earlier that week, traipsing before him across the pool area, taunting him from the water without knowing. "Do you understand how I've felt, from the moment I saw you?" he asked.

She laid back until her head rested against his shoulder and looked up at him, grinning, "You like me."

"Much more than that," he murmured, their noses almost touching. Mr. Moreau had found that she would fill an empty hole in his life, and heart. 

Carefully, he laid his hand on her thigh, thumb caressing the inside of it, "I want to please you." 

"Like...?" Ann looked down at his gesture, but couldn't get a question out.

"Allow me..." he breathed, eyes low and gazing down the girl's body resting in his lap. Then, as part of a risk greater than any he had ever taken as a spy, his fingers snaked toward a place nobody else's ever had. She blinked, not protesting as he one-handedly unbuttoned the seam of her shorts.

Ann gasped slightly as she watched him slip his hand into her underwear. He would find that her lower regions were mostly smooth, but still showed an early indication of puberty, small hairs scarcely beginning to grow down there. Mr. Moreau had learned over the course of his life as an adult how to determine a woman's arousal by the way she began to breathe under his ministrations. A young girl's turned out to be mostly the same, but higher-pitched and somehow more thrilling to him.

As he struggled not to become too aroused himself, her excitement was proven once he reached her private area, where hot moisture was beginning to gather. His slender fingers felt and probed around her little folds, and soon enough, shaky gasps were drawn from her at the new sensations. Mr. Moreau knew the parts of a female well and managed to hit her in all the right spots, except inside. That was what must be spared.

Letting his fingers continue to give her their gentle massage, he had trouble reading Ann's expression given the angle he was at, but could see that her cheeks were flushed red and lips parted. "Do you want me to stop?" he asked quietly as a precaution, pausing. Even though it would be too late at that point, being unable to take back the crime he had already committed, it would pain him greatly if he found she didn't enjoy it.

Ann shook her head with no words accompanying it. She shamelessly allowed him to defile her in the spot that she had been told her whole life never to allow anyone to touch. It was wrong, she had been convinced without any definite reasons given, but how did it feel right? Slowly, she began to grind against the hand stuck beneath her panties, shallow breaths and small moans becoming more erratic as the unfamiliar feelings of tension and pleasure grew from within, rapidly heading someplace final that an instinct told her she must go.

"Shh..." he leaned in and tenderly kissed her cheek. Though her voice under his care sounded like music to him, he couldn't let her get much louder in case there was anyone in the neighboring rooms to hear. He finally found success, his goal was achieved when he could hear her exhale softly in pleasure and felt her parts convulse at the mercy of his hand. 

After waiting for her to finish, Mr. Moreau finally took his hand out from her shorts. Ann's head was too far in the clouds for her to complain of its absence. She had never thought it was possible, for simple touches in that area she kept secret between her legs to reduce her being to a mess of euphoria. Still recovering from this first orgasm, she shifted to turn around in his lap and brought her arms up in a hug, head resting against his jacket's lapel as she regained her breath.

The Frenchman lifted his fingers to inspect the small amount of warm fluid which had come out onto them. Elbow against the armrest, he rubbed them together and looked down to her, "More, _chérie_?"

"Mm..." she rubbed her face against his shoulder. Unbeknown to her beneath all his clothing, his heart fluttered; that sweet sound was validation enough for him.

Mr. Moreau thought of something different for her, hopefully as part of a more intense and memorable experience. "Go lie on the bed for me," he said, allowing the girl to withdraw from him and slide off his lap to go there.

He chuckled as Ann flopped down to the bed on her stomach and averted her gaze within her arms, waiting expectantly for him to make his next move. "I'm coming for you..." he mused, leaving the chair and stalking toward the bed as if it were part of a mission - one which actually earned him his living. His half-hard cock twitched in its confines as he let his eyes follow over her form, but at least for that day, he affirmed, he wouldn't be satisfying himself. Ann couldn't be deflowered just yet.

He slowly brought a leg up and knelt on the bed beside the place she laid, hearing her muffled giggling. With a smirk, the man just watched her for a few moments before letting his hands slither to her waist. Something close to a delighted squeal came from her as Mr. Moreau suddenly yanked her shorts down to her knees. " _Quiet,_ Ann," he warned her. 

And there she was. The girl's entire rear laid exposed to him - it was noticeably paler than the sun-kissed skin over the rest of her body she so easily flaunted to anyone else in the recent weather. This, though, was going to be all his. None of the other licentious men who may very have well leered at her at the pool the way he had would ever be able to see her, to have her, in this way.

He let his eyes wander downward. Shimmering, the place he had violated before was rich with the aftermath of her previous orgasm, its lips reddened and pulsating with an impatience for another. It was as completely virginal as it should for a girl her age, but had still been tainted by his carnal attention to her, never to be the same again. It looked absolutely beautiful to him. 

Laughs escaped her as he bent down to place several teasing kisses on the small of her back, not far above her tailbone. Then, they quickly turned to shrieks when his head plunged between her legs. The man aggressively melded his lips with her folds, not so much as stopping to breathe, or to tell Ann to keep quiet, even once. He planted his hands on the bedding at either side of her waist to brace himself as he set out to satiate the girl a second time.

Ann wanted to cry out, wincing from the wet sensations of his lips against her lower regions. Her girlhood throbbed at his touch once again like it had when she was in his lap, begging for the release that only he could give it. If it weren't for the pair of shorts caught around her knees, or his relentless actions preventing her from being able to take them off fully, she would have spread her legs wider to further invite him in. 

He took a taste of her, darting his tongue out against her clit and pressing against the sensitive nub to draw a gasp from the girl, causing her to quiver as he licked. In a daze, Ann threw her head up from the bedding and looked back at him over her shoulder, gripping the comforter and choking out in laughter, "That's _so_ -!" 

Disgusting? Deplorable? Unthinkable? All of those, but to them both above all, it was ecstatic.

His mouth carried on its lewd act against her, tongue being rewarded with Ann's soft whines and more of her slickness with each wet lap. _Gentil, chose parfaite,_ he worshiped. She was behaving so well for him - he knew how lucky he was to have chosen her from the beginning.

Over time, Ann grew tense once again, pleasure building at her very core. Her feet curled and kneaded against the bed as she was almost tempted to demand more of him, but could never bring herself to scream at someone she had come to respect so well. She should have told him to stop long ago, but let him continue his service to her steadily until, in the most sensual way, she could bear no more. 

Making an effort not to be too loud, she let out a small cry as she climaxed in Mr. Moreau's face. She felt her folds pulse and contract around his mouth; all through the ride he continued to devour her in his greed.

As her mind slowly returned to Earth, Ann felt something begin to trickle out of her, but all of it was caught in the mouth still against the girl, her vulva trembling from over-stimulation. He kissed her lower pair of lips for a last time, " _Bonne fille._ " She had doubtlessly enjoyed it. 

Loosening his grip on her thigh, he withdrew his head from between her legs, allowing her to turn her body so that she could lay on her back and lift her hips briefly to pull up her shorts, head propped against one of the pillows. Mr. Moreau remained seated in the same spot on the bed, waiting until she gave him her full attention. 

"Ann..." he picked up both of her hands and looked deeply into her eyes, "listen to me. There's something I've been meaning to ask you." The man hoped it was clear to her how serious he was about to become. He had decided it was finally time to give her his ultimatum - to be his, or for him to check out of the hotel, never for them to meet again.

"Would you stay with me, for us to live together?" 

He promised he would tend to her every need, to give her all the attention she could want during her birthday. Perhaps, someday he could even return to France with her.

Mr. Moreau saw her brow furrow in thought, and she glanced between him and the bedding she laid on with no reply. He swallowed, not so sure now if he should have asked if the answer to it was already clear to her. Her silence beckoned him to continue, "If not, if you feel more needed by your family...then the day after tomorrow I'm leaving the resort, and you will never see me again." He squeezed her hands more tightly. It would be beyond a painful goodbye - he believed they would get along so finely if she chose for them to stay together.

The girl inhaled, upset by the flattering, yet tough proposition. It should have been an obvious choice to stay with her family normally over a man she had hardly come to know so far, but over the past few days she had been captivated in such a way she had never experienced before. In all of her naivety, she thought she was getting to know what it was like to be in love, a feeling she had thought was mainly shared between high school sweethearts who could only see each other for a short time each day, yet wanted so much more.

If they were to part ways and continue life as normal, Mr. Moreau would disappear like an apparition, as though he never existed to anyone but Ann. This idea somehow intrigued her too, but she didn't like how unfazed he seemed to be over it. As a spy, he may have left people behind this way countless times before.

"I am giving you one day to make your decision," he shifted, releasing her hands, "Tomorrow I'll need you to come back and tell me which you would rather do." It would be either the last time they would ever meet, or the last time they would ever separate.

At the same moment he was about to turn and stand, Ann slowly sat up on the bed and scooted closer until she pressed her head against his chest, stopping him. Just as he had asked her for a kiss earlier, she was asking him for a hug. She welcomed the man as he enfolded his arms around her shoulders and gently set his chin on her head, stroking her back as they held each other for a while in silence. Whichever path she chose, she knew that he didn't want her to regret it. The proposal should be left to sink in for a while, for her to sleep on, and she appreciated him for giving her the option. 

"I'm sorry if this is too much," she heard him whisper into her hair. There was certainly a lot being given for her to think about over the next day. It was going to be a challenge, but she could handle it, she believed with a smile hidden away from him, that he never had the pleasure of seeing.

After another minute passed, Mr. Moreau pulled away from her with a sigh, "I think it's best if you leave now." The sooner she could be left to her own devices to come to her decision, the better.

"Okay..." she crawled across the bed as a shortcut to the other side closest to the doorway, where her flip-flops had been left on the floor. Before he stood up and went around the bed himself to escort her out, the Frenchman watched fondly as she swung her legs and slid off the side to put the shoes back on.

He had done everything in his power for her to hopefully be more inclined to choose him, but in the end it was her own call, and whatever personal business she had with her family was beyond his control. It would take all of the understanding he had in order for him not to be upset if she didn't believe it was a good idea to go off with him.

Ann gazed at him shyly as he approached, not yet turning toward the door for him to open it. When he came before her and waited for her to say something to him, she instead stood on her toes and reached up around his shoulders for a parting hug.

Mr. Moreau sighed quietly, imagining spending his future nights holding the girl like this, in his bed with the sheets tangled between their bodies, without any cares in the world to give. It was a good possibility, he wished to think. With one hand around her waist, he used the other to move some of her hair out of the way to lean down and kiss her temple. "Think very carefully tonight," he murmured, "Will you do that for me?"

"Mhm," she nodded into his chest. Then, as she moved away from him he, at last, pulled open the door to let her go. She didn't say goodbye.

* * *

Much later, as the sun was falling low in the sky and many resort guests were filing back into their rooms for the night, Mr. Moreau wandered into his bathroom, switching on the light and focusing his attention on the bag where his toiletries were packed. He approached as it rested on the marble counter beside the sink and soap dish. It wasn't that he needed to use something in it right then, but that he wanted to make sure there were enough items there to last him, depending on how long he would continue his stay. 

This relied entirely on whether Ann would choose to stay with him tomorrow. The same way Ann did, Mr. Moreau also had a lot of thinking and preparing to do before she would come back to him with her last conviction.

If she decided to go with him, he wasn't going to take off with her - that's what every other idiot who had ever gained the nerve to abduct a child did. By the odds that his skills failed him and he was taken into custody, it could cost him his career, reputation, everything, just so he would have this young girl for himself and alleviate some of his petty insecurities. He could never afford to be an idiot in this.

Instead, he determined that they, for a little while, would stay put in the hotel - the exact opposite of where investigators would most likely assume she would have gone with her mysterious captor. As the surrounding area and businesses were combed for any clues as to where they went, this would also give him time to think of a way to smuggle her out later. Hopefully, though he couldn't be sure, no more than a quick sweep for Ann over the resort would take place before they moved on to try and find a trail.

He zipped open the bag and sorted through his manly toiletries inside - bottle of cologne, comb, razor, shaving cream, mouthwash, among other things. Taking them to set out them on the counter, at a glance it looked like all of this would last at least another week without him needing to visit a drug store in town. Mr. Moreau picked up the bottle of shaving cream and shook it, finding it to still be mostly full. He looked in the mirror for a moment and wondered how Ann would like to see him someday with his face completely clean-shaven, without the scratchy gray stubble that covered his jaw then. It must have been a small discomfort to her whenever he kissed or nuzzled her.

Then, it set in, what would happen if she chose not to be with him.

After leaving and making the melancholy drive home, he shouldn’t push his luck by pursuing another. The greatest concern coming out of it is that he could become fixated on children, which, he felt, would be too dangerous for both him and certainly whichever ones he went after. Just as he had reflected in the same spot in the bathroom a couple days before, Ann would never be easy to replace.

The IUPUI campus laid not too far from his apartment. Later that year in the fall, when the student body would all return for school, it was possible for him to make a search through it and find a more innocent type than he had always been used to, without them being underage. Then, he remembered he would also be facing hoards of campus police and the judging eyes of professors as they commuted to and from class. He would only be exposed for the creep he was, and no one there would take very kindly to him. As well, many college-aged women would probably expect him to pay their tuition in exchange for their company, which he could understand, but this was not what he was looking for any longer. 

Mr. Moreau set his hands on the counter, eyes darting wearily. What in the world was he going to do? Besides Ann, it seemed he was out of options.

But no matter what, if the girl would return tomorrow and the coin was flipped tails...he could never take her by force and hold her in his room against her will. The main reason being that it simply wouldn’t be possible in this environment, with leery visitors around every corner, in every neighboring room to hear her cries. Just the thought of the girl in fear and emotional turmoil like that, at his very own hands, disturbed him deeply as well. The delicate trust she held for him would shatter, and she would never love him.

He sighed before reaching into the bag again, and his hand came upon something he couldn't remember packing. He pulled out a white plastic bottle of medication, something he hadn't used in quite a while. The bootleg container was carelessly labeled, but he recalled the name of the substance perfectly, _WIN 18446_. 

It was a male contraceptive, taken orally. Though it was never released to the public, this 'male Pill' had been circulating under a black market for several years for shady figures such as himself to purchase. As Mr. Moreau had never seen them on the news or read much about them ever since, the scientists who leaked the product still must have happily continued their careers, secretly benefiting from the extra income. He was always grateful they managed not to get caught; otherwise, he and so many others would no longer be able to attain it.

He thought that the medication might as well be released, because in his past relationships he had taken the risk of using it with no other protection, and it turned out to have actually worked. None of his past lovers ever came up to him telling him they were pregnant. 

The man tried to recall the moment he gathered it before heading off for French Lick. Back home whenever he went through his bathroom to pack for a trip, he would often just rummage through the drawers and cabinets, throwing things into the bag without even glancing at them. He must have taken it subconsciously out of routine, even though he wasn't originally expecting to find a new partner at the resort.

His old habits would have to die hard.

But given this situation, he was glad he happened to have it there with him. It might turn out to be a waste of the pills, but it wouldn't hurt if he took one anyway, just in case he could make something happen with the girl. Mr. Moreau uncapped the bottle and poured it into his open palm, and with the other, took a plastic cup and filled it with some water from the sink. Followed by a swig of the tap water, he swallowed the contraceptive. 

Tomorrow if she chose him, as a rite of passage, he would finally take Ann's innocence in its entirety.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp.
> 
> I'd like to point out that this 'WIN 18446' is an actual substance that was mostly developed during the 1950s when it was found to have some sketchy side effects on the prisoners they tested it on. It's still being looked at today, and (hopefully?) it never really made it to some weird drug cartel or whatever.


	6. VI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry subscribers, I have several excuses why this came out so late.
> 
> \- This chapter is over three times as long as the others on average? It took three times as long to draft, three times as long to edit and polish. And it's the most important part of the story so it actually has to be decent, too.  
> \- Schoolwork has been tearing me a new one.
> 
> Better hold on to your butts.

###### Saturday, June 10th, 2017

Ann was gradually drawn from her sleep as warm sunlight reached across the Clarkes' room to the furthermost bed where she had spent the night. The girl shifted under the thick covers and rolled over to face the wall in a lazy protest, disregarding the morning's pleas for her to get up. It was something she had always enjoyed the most during her summers - sleeping in to the point where she felt as if she could never leave the comfort of bed again.

As she continued to lay in her drowsy state, eyes half-lidded, she eventually noticed the room around her seemed strangely silent and unmoving; usually, she would have been hearing the shuffling of Jackson as he went to gather fresh clothes from his suitcase, or maybe her mother as she got out from bed and opened the curtains. Turning away from the wall to face the dreaded light, she sat up under the covers and let her eyes focus as she glanced about the hotel room, with no one there to be seen. No activity of any kind could be heard behind the closed door leading to the bathroom, either.

Ann blinked, not moving. Where was her family?

As if waiting for someone to miraculously appear, she sat still for a few moments more before stiffly leaning over to reach for her phone that laid on the nightstand. The time on its screen told her it was almost ten o'clock - she had slept in much later than she thought. Whatever they were doing, she still felt too tired to care much, and expected them to return soon for them all to go to the Grand Colonnade, or maybe someplace else outside the resort, for breakfast. With a sigh, she set it back down, prepared to sink deeper into the bed and doze off once again until her heavy eyes did a double take.

A small scrap sheet of paper had been left on the nightstand beside her phone. By the somewhat course handwriting scribbled in ink on it, belonging to someone who always liked to leave patronizing notes behind before going out, she could already tell who it was from. Still, at least it would reveal to her where they had gone, and why. She sneered as she picked it up to read,

_Rise and shine sleeping beauty,_

_Since you went to bed kind of late last night and we got up a bit early, we didn't want to disrupt your sleep and went down to the buffet to get something to eat ourselves. Don't worry because there's plenty of things for breakfast you can have that we brought instead._

_And make sure you get dressed soon before we go out on the trail ride later. Long pants, no shorts._

_\- Dad_

Ann seethed, crumpling the note in her fist and tossing it to the floor. They had gone out of their way to get up, get dressed, only to leave for the restaurant while she still slept, never having any concern whether she actually wanted to go and eat with them at the Grand Colonnade anyway.

One of them could have just woken her and asked - if she wanted to continue her slumber, they would have allowed her, and if it turned out she wanted to go, in that case too, they would have allowed her. But now it was too late. With them already out and enjoying the hot options for a meal from the buffet, she begrudgingly would have to find something they had packed along to eat, as mentioned in the note.

The girl shoved herself out of bed and stepped across the room to the little nook next to the entertainment center where they had set down their bags. She sat on the floor and began to sort through the one where the food was stashed, digging through several boxes until she came upon an unopened bag of granola with pieces of dried fruit mixed into it.

Though of course Ann knew she wasn't, it felt almost as if she were abandoned. Contemplating, she ripped open the bag, scooping the sweet bits out of it by the handful and stuffing them into her mouth in frustration, never thinking much of the mix's flavor.

 _Claude wouldn’t do this to me!_ she thought. Ann had never seen an ounce of carelessness in the man since meeting him. Pausing her eating, she just remembered what he had asked her of yesterday, how he was enticing _her_ to possibly abandon _them_. If she were to be with him instead, as he had sworn, his attention to her would be unyielding. She could hardly keep from smiling as she envisioned it.

Even though it wasn't what he had wanted of her, she had broken her informal pact with Mr. Moreau and mostly kept her mind off his proposition the night before. She was rather at a loss for words when he had made the offer to her, and couldn't have done much to help the way she remained in a state of awe for the rest of the evening after the fact.

But just as much as his question, her mind reeled to the pleasurable things he had done with her. She could tell he would be bestowing to her more strange, new experiences of that sort if she went with him; it might have actually been what he meant by the 'attention' we would pay her, at least partially.

Quickly growing tired of the granola, she sealed the bag shut and put it away, rising to her feet to use the toilet and get some water from the sink in the bathroom. Standing before the counter and filling a small cup to drink, Ann wondered what he did in the morning. He probably liked to wake very early, with a consistent routine used each day to get ready to present themselves to the world, like many other older men did, she had always assumed. 

She went to stand in the bathroom's doorway idly after disposing of the empty cup, having no idea how long her family had been gone or when they were coming back. She looked to her duffel bag a few feet away and groaned wordlessly at the one thing she had left to do, head lolling, _Really don't want to get dressed..._

As she found herself drifting into daydreams about Mr. Moreau, getting ready for the day would have to wait. Ann walked across the room and slumped back onto the bed face-first and sighed, shutting her eyes. She was going to be faced with some level of nagging the moment they returned for it, but she couldn't have cared less.

The girl crawled very much like a little soldier across the messied comforter and sheets until her head reached the pillow. Soon, she imagined it melted away into the man’s chest as she snuggled against it, grinning. Innocently, she wished for him to hold her again, to be close to his distinct modish scent of cologne, wine, and just the slightest hint of tobacco on his breath as he would whisper comforting things to her. _'Chérie'_ , he had called her before; she knew it meant something nice. 

But soon, that all faded as more forbidden thoughts appeared, and she felt a familiar heat grow in her nether regions. It was strange to her, this time, how it was all without the man’s touch. It was a fire brought about and fueled only by her imagination.

Frustrated, she ruminated in these feelings until she recalled a short, two-day sex ed course she and her peers had taken last school year. The guest speaker for it had told them it was perfectly healthy for kids her age to begin touching themselves 'down there', to experiment with their own bodies. During their time together, though, she supposed Mr. Moreau had helped do that for her. Until then she hadn’t understood the point, never bothering with it and focusing only on the things which normally consumed her life - her schoolwork, friends, how she could get back at her nasty brother for his slights, but now she knew very well. She needed this release more than anything.

With her head still pressed firmly into the pillow as she laid on her stomach, Ann lifted her pelvis off the bed slightly and slid a hand under her pajama shorts, then her underwear. She soon found the place which burned so ardently, and shuddered as she graced her fingers over its lips, drawing small surges of pleasure throughout, though to her discontent not intense enough for her to reach nirvana any time soon.

Admittedly, her hand wasn't as skilled as that of Mr. Moreau, even as she was satisfying herself. When he had touched her yesterday she took note of his meticulousness, like his fingers had been performing an elaborate dance all for her own enjoyment. He seemed more familiar with her own body than even she was.

She would try and copy his movements, exploring every crevice of herself but inside her warm, weeping center, where more pleasures to be had remained unknown to her. With her index finger she probed past her folds and found her clit, which the man had led her to find out was her most sensitive part. She remembered to when his mouth was upon her, and moaned upon her fingertip's contact with the tense bud, quivering. It made the girl hide her flushed face in the pillow bashfully, as if away from the phantom man in her mind who took his greatest pleasure in claiming her body. 

Ann could sense the third peak she would have in her life approaching, quiet gasps leaving her as she began fingering herself faster, trying desperately to reach that sweet ending. She was racing toward it like a lost child would to their mother in a war zone. "Claude..." the Frenchman's name fell from her lips. Not long following it, she swore she could hear the phantom man answer her in his lowest, most dangerous tone,

_I know you long for me, chérie._

With a sharp gasp, she came undone. The girl writhed and kneaded the bedding, disordering it even more as she convulsed and euphoria seemed to wash over her entire being. By her own will, Ann's fabrication of Mr. Moreau disappeared, or was rather discarded when she no longer needed it to sate her sickening, forbidden fantasies. Continuing to ride out her orgasm to her full advantage, she could feel spots of wetness forming on her fingers and the inside of her panties.

As the pleasure gradually faded and her core could find peace at last, she pulled her hand out, let her body settle into the sheets fully and shifted against the pillow, staring blankly out the two windows across the room to the bright morning awaiting outside. Had her family walked in during her little activity, she would have had no way to explain herself.

_And who is this 'Claude'?_

In the warmth of the room and the bed she still shivered. After going all week without letting a single soul know of them, she would have finally let Mr. Moreau down.

But thankfully, that was never the case. Ann brought up her legs and lifted the sheets to tuck herself back under them; when her family returned, it would look to them as if she had never gotten out of bed. Despite the deep, pleasurable exhaustion that seemed to weigh her down into the mattress, she didn't allow herself to slip into sleep again. It probably wasn't going to be too long until she would only be disrupted, if she did. To keep herself occupied until her family's return soon, she just observed each of the room's naturally-lit features from her angled, distorted point of view as she laid against the pillow.

She would be putting off her important decision further, at least until her mind would come out of its morning haze. It was a good excuse she made to herself, that it was always much better to settle on something so paramount with a clear head. Anyone else probably would have agreed to that, if someone happened to ask that day why she looked so pensive, so down - maybe one of Jackson's comments had struck a nerve, or it was only from the normal worries a girl like her should have for her future.

She vowed they would remain ignorant.

* * *

As she had predicted, Ann's parents were disappointed when they came back to their room to find her still in bed, not ready. Reluctantly, their fussing over that, while they had overlooked the fact whether or not she had eaten anything, finally forced her to gather some clothes appropriate for a trail ride and change into them. She hoped her pair of capris would count as long pants.

Now she was in the backseat of their car, bringing along a plastic water bottle and staring out the window absentmindedly as the Clarkes made their drive down the back road that bridged the two sides of the resort, separated about a mile apart. Just as they entered the domain of the massive West Baden Springs hotel, the road's pavement was changed from asphalt to one inlaid with red brick, having a dated but charming appeal.

The car soon passed by the annular building, slowing down as it was forced to go under the coach gate for the other cars and guests approaching its entrance. Ann couldn't see it well as she was seated on the side of the car furthest from it. Jackson, though, had the privilege to take in its grace, but only glanced with indifference before it was left behind them, unimpressed like always.

They had to drive through the hotel's parking lot in order to reach the path that would eventually take them to the stables at the northernmost point of the resort. Marked with a sign, Mr. Clarke found the gravel road that forked out from it, leading them deep into the forest. Ann rolled down her window for fresh air and to immerse herself in the sounds of the woods, leaning over to cross her arms over the sill. As she observed the way sunshine peaked through and dappled the undergrowth in brightness under the canopy of the trees, she also kept a weary eye out for any glimpse of wildlife. Robins swooped across the ground and between bushes while warblers sang to each other happily from their highest perches above.

The rest of the drive was unexpectedly long to her, causing her to wonder how far the resort’s vicinity really reached. Mr. Clarke faintly sighed with relief minutes later when the road was ending and a clearing presented itself before them, telling them they had finally arrived. 

Their car came to a slow stop after turning into a parking spot next to an old stock trailer, and the family stepped out to take in the scene. In contrast to either of the two hotels' parking lots, this one was tranquil, the stables seemingly existing in another world away from the resort. For a moment Ann observed a family that had gathered for a small party or reunion in a pavilion built far on the other side, preparing to serve lunch on the picnic tables. Otherwise, the Clarkes seemed to be the only ones there.

As she was summoned to follow the others into the main office, she looked out over the rest of the property to see a small goat pen, set up before the range of pastures dedicated to the horses further away. A few heavier horses, probably ones that worked the carriages, wandered and grazed on the short grasses in the distance. 

Once inside, the family had their obligatory meet-and-greet with the manager in his cowboy-like getup, which neither Jackson or Ann cared much for. He had explained his job and experience with the animals before taking them out to be presented to a long row of colorful equines tied to a railing against the wall and saddled, ready to be ridden at any given time. Standing quietly and still, a few occasionally swished pesky flies away with their tails. It might not have shown right then, but in all their rugged strength, to Ann they were noble animals.

A chipper young woman in a brown ponytail promptly introduced herself to them as their trail guide. First, she had assigned the two adults their horses before taking Ann down the formation.

" _You,_ " she was led beside a particular horse, "will be riding Derby." The palomino appeared to be dozing off in the heat, hind leg cocked and eyes low. He was gently roused when the trail guide patted his rump, "He got his name because he was born during the Kentucky Derby, many years back." 

Not being quite tall enough to mount on her own, Ann was given a leg up to climb up into the saddle. Her feet reached just shy of the stirrups, compelling the trail guide to shorten them. "Too long?" she muttered as she eyed the issue, "I'm gonna need you to move your leg."

Ann lifted her leg to rest her foot on the horse's wither as flaps were lifted for the stirrup to be shortened. "So how old are you, sweetie?" the woman asked, not looking up from her work. The girl gazed down, watching the trail guide’s hands lift the saddle's flap to grasp at the fender and pull it, "I'm gonna be twelve tomorrow."

"Oh, well, happy birthday," she smiled, moving to finish the adjustments on the other side as well and allowing her to set her feet into the more appropriately-fitting stirrups. "Think that should be better..." the trail guide went away to the teenager still waiting from the ground. As she and her parents were left to wait, Ann bent forward in the saddle to look at some of the details in Derby's blond mane. A deviant strand laid unaligned with the rest, and with a smile she flipped it to the other side so that it was neatly united again. The horse pricked an ear back at her gesture.

Lastly, Jackson had been given his mount, on Chief. "Now I need to get my horse, then we'll be ready to go," the trail guide sauntered into the main stable to retrieve it, kept separate from the other animals. As she brought her gray horse out moments later to mount, the stable manager returned to lead each member of the family and their horses out to form a line that faced the imminent trail. 

The woman rode her horse to the very front, glancing back at the others, "Ok...let’s roll." All party members nudged their horses' sides, and from there they walked on, leaving the stables' property through a gate and down the trail, eventually passing the forest’s edge. Ann’s mind wandered as she listened to the birds and whispering trees around them on horseback, coming to ignore the trail guide’s lectures on the local wildlife as they went. With her needing to finalize her decision in only a few hours, she needed to stop procrastinating and begin to seriously reflect on the offer, as well as the state of her life. She figured the quiet, relaxing ride through the forest would be more than a suitable backdrop for it.

So safe inside her own head, she was going to review everything she had gathered over the past day and go from there. That morning her mind had still been too weary to do this, but now it was more than capable.

First and foremost, the idea was never at all what she had expected out of him - she was convinced she had only found someone to screw around with, just for a while until she was to be dragged back home, and that Mr. Moreau had thought roughly the same. But it turned out he was open to much more than that, and now she was being faced with a potentially life-changing decision, where she was stuck between a rock and a hard place.

It had just seemed to her the whole time he didn't want anything serious to happen between them, maybe because that was always how he had always treated his relationships. She felt flattered, yet a little disconcerted, how all of a sudden he was willing to commit himself to her entirely, to the point of risking going to prison. It was difficult for her to believe she was really worth that much to him.

What the girl still couldn't see, though, was that he had had this agenda laid out for her the entire time, all for his own selfish gain in the end. She never had any idea of the deep insecurities he had for himself, apart from his near decade-long dissociation with his home country. 

His career was the reason she had been told she couldn't tell anyone about him, right?

It was shady business, and she was terribly interested to see what it might be like to stay alongside him, to learn more about what he really did to make his living. She could trust, though, that the man would never allow her to be caught in a dangerous position in the middle of these affairs. She could still imagine having a similar assurance of safety as the one her family gave her if she went with him. Seeing as said family still didn't even know he existed so far as they continued to interact, being a professional who was remarkably skilled in keeping himself hidden, she thought that should carry seamlessly into keeping _her_ hidden as well. The police might never even be a concern for them, if their cards were played exactly right.

She almost wished she had someone to talk to about it, like the counselor at her school she often enjoyed seeing and spilling whatever was on her mind to, but this was a decision she had to make all on her own. Like an adult would, she realized. Ann would be growing up soon, and this gradual emergence of maturity would probably sneak up on her much quicker than she thought. On that same note, her birthday happened to be just tomorrow - as she turned another year older, would it be a more worthwhile experience celebrating with them, or Mr. Moreau? And it wouldn't affect it only this year, but every one after it, for as long as they were never found out. She tried hard to foresee how this longstanding commitment would turn out down the road...

"Something wrong, Ann?" her mother asked suddenly. She had twisted her body to look back to her from atop the horses, giving the typical wide-eyed expression of a concerned parent that struck Ann for a moment as their gazes met. 

"What?” she looked at her with equally wide eyes, "No..."

Mrs. Clarke gave her a very brief, inquisitive look before turning around. Ann glanced at the wooded surroundings, swallowing; had her face somehow twisted into something sullen? She hadn't exactly been feeling that way before she was asked, just trying to weigh her options. 

That small incident soon brought up something in her mind she dreaded to think about - that at the end of the day, even if she wasn't the favorite and her opinions weren't always the most highly regarded, she was still valued as a Clarke, and her family was always going to be there for her no matter what happened. If she stayed with them, everything would remain comfortable and familiar, the same as it had always normally been. She would be continuing to please her parents as well as she could; maybe someday she could even prove herself more worthy than her brother. At the heart of it, she had always wanted nothing more than to feel appreciated by them. It was a child's nature to seek this comfort in the people that had brought them their very existence.

And the same way her mother did for her, Ann always hated to see either of her parents upset. Most certainly, those sorts of feelings in them would be roused and unimaginably worse than she had ever seen if she went missing. 

This was her most empathetic side on the issue. A small angel upon her shoulder said it was most rightful for her to stay where she belonged and fulfill her role as a good daughter, nevermind how that strange man felt about it. 

Then the most selfish, depraved side of her threatened to take over. A small demon upon her shoulder said that she might as well leave them, because no matter what she did she could probably never really live up to their expectations. Her potential relationship with Mr. Moreau may not have been normal, but being normal was boring. Life would be so much more _interesting_ on the run with him than sitting at home during these sweltering days, only being among normal things, only doing normal things. It listed off more reasons:

She would have no older brother to compete with any longer. All the attention was for herself. 

She couldn't think of a way that Mr. Moreau would make her go back to school later that year in their situation. Even if it was her main means of getting about with other children, it was mostly lame anyway.

She wouldn't even be there to see her family's turmoil after she was gone. It was never going to be any of her concern - what was out of sight was out of mind. 

Going with him sounded more alluring than ever to the brazen child within her as the pros for this option swayed it more strongly than the ones for the other.

But the more reasonable side stepped in for just a moment; there was never any guarantee that she would be missing forever. By the chance she and Mr. Moreau couldn't get away - of course her family would condemn the man, but upon her return what would they think of her thereafter, for complying with him? Understanding she wasn't taken against her will, they wouldn't exactly see her as a victim. _But he's making sure this won't happen,_ she countered herself. 

Jaw tightening as she began to believe she was actually going mad, Ann was taken away from the war in her mind, back to reality when she noticed Derby’s ears had pinned, head raised. All of a sudden he threw a swift kick out behind him, throwing her forward in her seat. Sitting back up straight, she whipped her head around to glare at Jackson. "Will you get your horse off mine?" she shot. 

"Gee, _sorry,_ " he rolled his eyes and pulled back on the reins to create some distance between the animals. To her, Jackson’s attitude always showed a sharp contrast from her mother’s, and her bitterness began welling up inside more than it already had been.

"Don’t let them get too close!" the trail guide called from far up front, "Nobody likes having someone else’s nose up their butt."

With her train of thought having been jostled, she allowed herself to zone out again as the trail made its way down an incline, the horses and riders slowing to follow it carefully. During the ride, she expected to come to a conclusion, but was afraid she couldn't, though it still tormented her. Already growing tired from thinking about it so earnestly, she let it go with a sigh, and instead focused on the other aspects of her plan for the rest of the day. Later on, she remembered she would need to take a shower and change into different clothes in order to get the smell of horses, dust, and the outdoors off; it was a less than enticing scent for either fellow guests at a restaurant or Mr. Moreau. 

And after they would all finish dinner that evening, possibly their 'Last Supper', Ann thought of it dryly, her parents had told her and Jackson they would be leaving to visit the spa for the night. She determined she would go to see Mr. Moreau then, though without her verdict prepared ahead of time like he had asked. She noticed she had created a pattern over the week by visiting the man later and later in the day, wondering how much it worried him each time. For either choice she made, however, after that day she wasn't going to make him hold his breath any longer.

* * *

Six o'clock. It was supposed to be judgment day for the girl, or for Mr. Moreau rather, he realized - he was going to be judged before her, a lowly serf brought before the Virgin Mary in Heaven, to be either received or denied a life everlasting with her. But so late that afternoon, entering the evening, was she even coming back for him? It was like his proposal, or perhaps his tasteless act against her beforehand, had scared her away for good, and this was her harsh rejection of him. He remembered with dread how she hadn't given him any thoughts on it after he asked. 

Had she really built the courage to report him for his depravities, and the police were coming for him any moment now? It was hard for him to fathom after she had never shown any signs of unease around him, but maybe she was a talented potential actress. It seemed more and more plausible that the minx just pretended to return his feelings, getting close with him to see just how far his crimes would go, and eventually warranting an arrest. He remembered with a chill of hearing of _To Catch a Predator_ on TV some years ago. Though that show had been canceled, entrapment was a scheme some law enforcers still used.

After operating for so many years under the radar, Claude Moreau had finally been duped. By a young girl, no less, not the government agent that he had always been so well-prepared to face. He should have been able to tell.

The man bent over almost all the way with his head held in his hands as he sat on the couch. A bead of sweat formed on his brow when he imagined rough knocks at his door, with him opening it only to be shown a warrant, subdued and cuffed by officers in uniform, ready to be taken away and institutionalized for who knows how long. Well, maybe not too long, but the losses that came with it would stick with him forever.

Then there they were, a few familiar gentle raps, far different from the ones expected, against the door outside that relieved him of his vexes and lifted his spirits faster than much anything else in his life. He let out a wavering breath as he got to his feet to answer to it.

So it had all been real. As soon as the door was opened, before he could even see her face clearly Ann threw herself at him in a tight embrace, making him think blissfully for a moment that she was overjoyed in a decision to choose him. At first she was silent, but then to his concern he could hear quiet sobs coming from her, her shoulders shaking. _Oh, non..._

He tensed under the firm grasp of her arms around him as her unseen tears dampened the lapel of his suit. What had he done to her? The loss of innocence yesterday along with the sudden, strenuous offer must have been too much for her to process. He felt like a fool for it. 

As it was still swung wide open, he hastily reached past her to take the _'Do Not Disturb'_ sign off the inside of the door's handle and hooked it to the outside before shutting it. "Come here, Ann..." within his arms, as she seemed to use him like a crutch, he guided her over to the bed for them to sit. They rested on it together, and Mr. Moreau lowered his head closer to hers as he asked, "Why are you crying?"

But he could see exactly why; she had never been faced with a dilemma like this. After she was given over twenty-four hours to think it over, he thought she would have been able to decide by then. He knew, though, that he already didn't like to see her upset.

Ann sniffled. "I don't know, it's just hard..." she rolled her eyes to gaze up to him, choking, "Should I - with you...?"

"Oh, _ma chérie_ ," he drew her deeper into his embrace, setting his chin on her head, "I'm not going to tell you which way to choose." He regretted that his answer wasn't helpful to her, but only the girl could provide the best judgment for her own future. Of course he wanted her to choose him, but if he specifically told her to come with him and later in life she wished she had never done so, she could use that against him. He heard Ann's sobs begin to ebb as silence fell between them.

"Why did it have to be me?" she softly broke it, "You could have asked anyone else."

That pierced him like a knife.

Mr. Moreau wondered why she would dare to question all that has happened between them so far, whether it was only the impulsive angst typical to a preteen, or if she really felt she wasn't worthy of him. He hoped it was the former.

Blinking, he cradled her, lips upon her hair, "I couldn't have asked just anyone, Ann...I chose you for a reason." Many of the other girls he could have just as easily gone after would have managed to see him for what he really was, sooner or later. Choosing exactly right, he had recognized, sought out, and eventually preyed on Ann’s naivety as well as her body, taking full advantage. Now that he thought about it, he wondered which of their traits had fueled the fire the most - his desperation, or her clueless acceptance of it.

She never asked for his reason, letting them ease among the quiet of the room for a few more moments. Mr. Moreau held her tightly as he peered out one of the windows, "Do you love me enough?" There seemed to be hesitation, but she nodded, him feeling the movement of her head against his clothing. He made no reply, deciding he was going to give her one more minute to be alone with her thoughts before he would ask a final question.

It was a long minute to him, where one might feel the need to count each second that ticked by, but seeing the stress Ann was under, he couldn't be certain how quickly the time had run out for her. "What have you decided now?" he still murmured.

She continued to stare into an unclear point in space as she drew in a shaky breath, her voice threatening to crack, "I'm going with you."

He had never heard more pleasing words. His lips curled, _Good_.

Mr. Moreau no longer would have to brood over women, the focal point of the frustrations he had been facing for several months since ending his final relationship with one. To any whore who asked him from that point on - single, but not looking. What a shame for them. Seldom would they ever know, he was taken in secret by a very lucky little girl.

But he was getting ahead of himself. Now a criminal who would be charged with several felonies, one wrong move from then forward could never be risked; even if his main objective to obtain the girl had been met, he still couldn't treat his 'mission' as if it were finished, at least not until she was presumed dead in absentia.

He gently pried her head away from his chest, holding it in each of his hands and looking her in the face. "Then I don't think there's a good reason for this anymore," he thumbed a last, rolling tear away from her cheek and grinned, hoping it would cheer her up, "Is there?"

She shook her head and managed a smile at him under her puffy blue eyes. 

The man sighed happily and let go of her, allowing her to sit and wipe away any other remnants of her sadness herself. He rose from the bed and watched as she pulled her phone out from her pocket and checked her appearance in the front camera with a look of insecurity. He frowned; as she seemed to find so much fault in herself, to him she still looked perfect. 

Now it was carefully on to their next step. "I need you to get your luggage out from your room," he told her, "Leave your phone behind there." He eyed the device in her hand warily.

"Why?" she closed out the camera and looked up at him.

"The police have ways to track it. If you keep it, we would probably be found just tomorrow," he muttered, looking over his hand. 

That would have been their first grave mistake if he had been so careless to overlook it. She probably had pictures that would have been her only reminders of her family and friends if she kept it, but aside from the tracking issue, at the same time she could be faced with the temptation to continue using social media or to text them as she lived with him, perhaps to let them know that she was alive and unharmed, not to worry too much. He felt a pang of guilt for denying her from ever speaking with them again, but what else was he supposed to do if they didn’t want any chance to be hunted down? 

Ann didn't appear to be too bothered, not questioning it further and finally standing up to approach the door with it in hand. "Ok...be right back," she said, and headed out to the hall.

 _This is it,_ she thought as she made her way to the elevator, there was no going back after this. She wished she hadn't gotten so upset in front of him, but at least now the burden of making the decision was over and done.

As the doors to the elevator slid open and she stepped inside, Ann paled. She remembered how Jackson would be in the room for her to deal with, asking why she was taking her things, or even why her face was so red. To her dread, she wasn't sure if any amount of persuasion would convince him to let her go and later cover the reason for her disappearance from the police and their family. He may have often acted as if he hated her, but she knew well enough that he really didn't.

Arriving at the higher level, she counted each of the doors with impending anxiety until she came upon the one leading to the Clarkes' room, unlocking the door as quietly as possible. She anticipated to find him still mindlessly sitting in front of the TV, but instead she had opened to hear the shower running along with rock music that was blaring from the cheap speakers of Jackson's phone in the bathroom. She couldn't name the artist, nor cared to.

She had hated it whenever he did this back home; it often woke her much earlier than she had to in the mornings before she needed to get ready for school. This time, though, and with it being the last time she would put up with it, she was more than thankful for his obnoxious habit. He seemed to be lost in his own world of rock and roll in there, and she was going to be able to quietly slip in and out with her things without him ever knowing.

Sighing and shutting off her phone for the last time, she went to set it down on the nightstand along with the key card that would no longer be of any use to her. Then, she turned to look at the family's luggage spread out on the floor, picking out her duffel bag and kneeling in front of it to sort through and check what she had and what she hadn't.

She didn't have her toiletries - they had been left in their own pack in the bathroom.

This was exactly where she could be compromised. Standing up and inching toward it with her teeth gritted in unease, she slowly opened the door to the bathroom, and gradually the sounds of Jackson's music and running water became much clearer. Her eyes darted between the shower her brother was in and her bag of toiletries that laid waiting for her on the counter as she carefully stepped and leaned past the doorway. _Don't come out, don’t come out_ , she prayed.

In the next moment a new song came on, and it must have been one of Jackson's favorites, because shrouded behind the curtain and steam he had begun to sing along with it off-key, and she cringed as his voice resonated harshly off the bathroom walls. _You can't sing!_ she normally would have shouted at him. Wasting no time as the added noise obscured her efforts more, she reached as far as possible to get a hold of and drag the bag off the counter before swiftly and silently shutting the door again, leaving her brother without an audience.

Leaving behind some sweat as she let go of the knob, Ann wondered how Mr. Moreau could ever handle the uncertainty of sneaking around people like this, and at much higher stakes. She returned to her bag to pack the smaller one inside, for sake of convenience when taking them back. Ann glanced, trying to figure out if there was anything left to bring. As her eyes passed over it, she suddenly remembered to take her special white dress off from the rack near the front door where it had been hung separate from her other clothes, folding it carefully and placing it in her duffel bag to join everything else. Eventually, she wanted Mr. Moreau to see her in it, if no one else was.

She then bent down to the bag containing their food and grabbed a few snacks for her to eat later, finding some space barely left among her things and zipping them inside. She believed she was all set.

Ann lifted the bag and swung its strap over her shoulder, looking at the bathroom's door that averted her brother from ever knowing anything. "Bye, Jack," she breathed somberly to herself and left, ready to start anew. 

Mr. Moreau had been waiting near his door when Ann returned a few minutes later, surprised there was only one relatively small bag she had walked back into his room with, or rather their room, now. "That's all you have?" he asked just to make sure, shutting the door for her as she carried it past him. It appeared light, too; she didn't seem to have trouble bearing it.

"Yep," standing in the middle of the room with the strap let off her shoulder, she glanced at him briefly.

"Put it near my things," Mr. Moreau insisted with a small smile. The girl went to the foot of his bed where his suitcase and pairs of shoes were kept; there was still some space on the ottoman just large enough for it to rest on. "So are you taking me home...?" she looked up after setting her bag down to find his back turned against her.

He was taking his watch, wallet, and phone off his person to lay them on the nightstand when he replied, "...No, I still have business here. We’ll be staying for a while longer." Business of tracking the investigation incognito - over the next few days he needed to make sure their tracks had been covered to where they were currently standing before they could move on any further. He didn't feel it was necessary to explain this to her, though, because she should have to worry only about whatever happened between them from then on, nothing else.

"But in the meantime..." he turned to face Ann with a simper, who had crept closer to him when he wasn't looking. She returned the expression as she reached and pulled him by the wrist toward her and the bed. He was about to swoop in for a kiss when she unintentionally evaded it by letting go of him and backing onto the bedding. She turned over to prop herself on her arms as she scooted across to the further side, saving Mr. Moreau a spot as she settled down on her stomach like a reversed snow angel.

His eyes grew heavy with lust as he crawled over to join her, laying on his side. It would have been nice to imagine she was ready for him to claim, so graciously resigned to him, now and forever. But with the restfulness of her body and the lack of red that would otherwise be coloring her face, she didn’t look physically aroused. All she seemed to have in mind for them was to lay and rest beside each other.

He didn’t mind; there was going to be plenty of time for more risqué activities later on, as long as everything went as they both envisioned. Without her phone, now, there was no family of hers to disrupt them - for a while, at least, they could pretend that nobody else besides them and nothing else outside their hotel room existed.

Shifting a little closer to her, it wasn't long until their warm breath could be felt against each others' faces, and their mouths connected. Mr. Moreau hummed his satisfaction as their lips made soft smacks, and the girl turned on her side as well to copy his stance. He brought an arm around her shoulder and held on to the back of her head as his thin lips became more possessive over her youthful ones, and she whined softly into his mouth. He began to wonder if he was overwhelming her, but that thought was shoved to the back of his mind as he only focused on drawing more of those pleasing sounds from her.

Ann was the one who broke the kiss moments later, laying her head back down on the comforter, weary with affection. Removing his arm from around her, Mr. Moreau did nothing to prevent when she pulled the silver striped tie out from his jacket to handle it and touch its silky fabric, like a kitten with yarn. He watched closely as she glanced in thought, looking anywhere but into his eyes. 

"Could we have...like, a fake wedding?" she mumbled.

" _Fake_ wedding?"

He caught himself disappointed when she suddenly got up and shuffled away from him off the bed to head toward her luggage left at the foot of it, "Like I brought this dress I could wear-"

"You want to celebrate us being together, as if we're man and wife?" he replied with interest, languidly turning to sit up on the bedside and fix his tie.

"...Yeah," not yet taking out the dress, she looked away and fidgeted bashfully as he stood from the bed and approached her slowly. He recalled two days ago how she had asked him whether he had ever wed anyone. Even if it wasn't real, maybe she still wanted them both to gain that sort of experience, and make things feel more official. It was a wonderful idea - not only would it help keep his mind off his nerves from taking the girl for a while, but it was a great opportunity for them to bond. "Then we shall be 'married'," he smirked, and bent over to pick up and kiss the back of her hand.

Ann smiled as her hand was released, opening her duffel bag to pull out her folded dress along with a few toiletries. It prompted him for a second to think of how he was going to dress for their evening, then remembered he wouldn't really have to. It was a shame he hadn't packed a bow tie for him to make a sort of pseudo-tuxedo; the normal suit he was currently wearing would have to do.

She giggled, turning away from him with her things, "Give me five minutes." Ann disappeared behind the bathroom door, and Mr. Moreau went to wait patiently from the bedside. As he sat and watched the door, he began to daydream of her undressing just behind it, slipping the shirt over her head to show him her bare midriff...with a furrowed brow he willed those thoughts away. 

She hadn’t used the full five minutes, and soon the door opened to reveal the girl adorned in her new dress for him, beaming. It was a tricky off-white in color, a shade of cream that was barely distinguishable to the eye. His gaze carefully followed over the details; some lacy elements were embroidered along the trim of the skirt, straps, and neckline. It wasn’t long, like a gown. The skirt barely reached to her knees.

"Do you like it?"

His want could hardly be expressed, "Charming..." He somehow felt sorry that no one else would have the chance to see her in this.

Ann twirled once in front of him as he stood up, looking down at the dress, "I was supposed to wear this to dinner for my birthday tomorrow..." She then let go of the skirt and looked at him expectantly, as if silently asking him what they were doing next. With them both ready but without much of a plan, he thought for a moment - for the first part of their little ceremony, Mr. Moreau decided they would make their 'vows'. 

"Here, my 'bride'..." he took her by the hand and led her to the chair, similar to the day before, "at the beginning of a wedding the couple makes their vows to each other, yes?"

"Oh, yeah," she answered. The man hadn't seen her expression, but she sounded enthusiastic for it, if a little shy. He let go and sat down, allowing her to follow into his lap without guidance, white skirt spread out over him as she faced him eagerly. With a sigh after she had settled, he began, "You understand we will always be together, so long as we get away with this?"

Ann nodded and shifted within his lap to get more comfortable. 

"Because I can’t let you go if I don’t want to lose everything else in my life as well. You wouldn’t want that to happen, would you?"

She shook her head, biting her lip, "Mm-mm."

Just realizing how remarkably fast everything between them had happened, he speculated whether either of them would come to regret this in the long run - they had known each other for less than a week, and who could tell how their relationship would develop from there? They both seemed too invested in the moment.

Mr. Moreau took one of her open hands in his, bringing it close to his lips. He had discussed his promises with her yesterday, but felt the need to place further emphasis on them, "I promise I will take care of you until I can no longer, whatever circumstance that may be." He kissed each of her fingers, to which her face reddened. 

The man looked her in the eye and continued seriously, "And you promise you’ll do whatever you can not to expose us, just as I will?"

"I promise."

"So do you take me as your 'husband', in sickness and in health?" he grinned, still playing along with the wedding theme.

"I do," Ann laid her head on his shoulder and hugged. A moment after she pulled away and asked, "Do you promise you'll love me forever, for better or for worse? Is that how it goes?"

It was good enough for him. "I do," he leaned forward for them to kiss, stealing a taste of her cherry lip gloss. It didn't last long, and Ann made a soft whimper when their lips separated. "This is still our secret," he whispered as if they were surrounded by strangers.

The girl turned on her side and relaxed against him, legs folded closely into his lap. Mr. Moreau continued to rest beneath her for a minute until a question occurred to him, "Did you already have dinner with your family?"

"Yeah, why?"

He replied softly, "I would have ordered food for you if you hadn't." However, what she told him came as a relief to him, since those who worked in room service probably would have thought it was odd if he ordered a second meal in the same evening, after having fed himself earlier.

So dinner for their ceremony had been ruled out of the question, and the man tried to think of something else that didn't necessarily involve lovemaking, not yet. After moments more of silence, Ann exhaled softly against his neck with her own idea, "Could you teach me how to dance, like they do at weddings?"

Spacing out into the room with a smile, distant memories of him taking past dates for a night out at formal clubs or receptions returned to him in a pleasant flurry. She must have forgotten he had never danced at a wedding, though, but he didn't believe the nature of it was too much different. "I suppose I could," he murmured.

Sensing a shift, Ann moved off his lap to let him stand. She followed him to the area in front of the entertainment center; there wasn't much clearance between it and the bed, but they could make do with what they had. He found the remote and turned on the TV to switch between channel until he could find one that played music that suited their theme, keeping it at a lower volume. Turning back to her, Mr. Moreau took her hand in his own and the other around her waist to begin a basic waltz.

Neither of them could tell how long they frolicked in their small space in the back of the room. Ann was clumsy sometimes as opposed to his refinement, but she and Mr. Moreau still laughed through all her mistakes. Despite it, she felt as though they were Cinderella and the prince, dancing at their own private ball that nobody had been invited to see. 

After a while, having gone through countless songs, they slowed to a near stop in the center, rocking in each others' arms. Some time ago she had shut her eyes, head laid against the man's chest. He stroked her hair and lowered his head close. "Tired?" he whispered. She nodded, never opening her eyes.

He withdrew his arms from around her to shut the TV off with the remote before setting it on the desk. Her mouth opening wide in a yawn, Ann took initiative leading him back to their chair; she really liked resting with him in it, he thought with a smile. As Ann crawled on top of him, he laid his head back and sighed, feeling as if he could sink into it happily under the girl's weight.

A few minutes later through the windows, the man noticed the world outside was beginning to grow dark. He reached behind to turn on the standing lamp next to the chair to provide some new light in the room as the sun was retiring for the day. It seemed to cast a sleeping spell on them both, but as nice as it may have sounded, he wasn't going to allow them to fall asleep in the chair together. There was one more thing left for them to do, as a closure to the night before they could finally rest.

He moved to sit upright again, "Now...I think it's time we consummate this 'marriage'." 

Ann's weary breath caught when Mr. Moreau stood from the chair, straining to lift her off his lap with him. She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, legs around his waist and looked down at the floor far below as he carried her across the room toward the bed, "What does that mean?"

"I'm about to show you," he purred into her neck.

She butted her head against his shoulder and laughed, demanding, "But what does it mean?"

"You will see!"

Mr. Moreau approached and gingerly laid her down on the bed, her hair fanning over the pillow, "This is what a groom does to his bride..." 

Ann's smile disappeared, and with widening eyes she watched as he clambered over her, appearing so much larger, "Wait, do they, uh...?"

Her unfinished question would go unanswered. Mr. Moreau felt, and must have looked, drunk with desire as his gaze wandered over his girl. Laying beneath him in white, she was like an angel without wings, at his mercy entirely. He bent down close until his lips were laying claim to her throat, sucking on it. "I think you know," he breathed. She was old enough to understand; otherwise, he wouldn't have intended on doing this with her.

And she did understand, what men and women did with each other, but it was still a new horizon - learning about something from a book or class was never going to be the same as experiencing it for herself. Still, she didn't object. She trusted Mr. Moreau would take good care of her and want nothing more than for her to be satisfied like he had said, and shown her, over the last two days.

"Would you be comfortable if we were naked?" he ran a hand over her shoulder, dreaming of removing the dress from her lithe form to make all of her known to him. Stilling his fingers at the strap, with patience he allowed her to think over it for a moment. After glancing briefly, she gave him a look of unease and shook her head once.

"Very well," he slowly brought his hand down beside her. "Then we don't have to worry about that tonight...but you'll still have to take these-" in an instant, he reached under her skirt and blindly pulled down the underwear, "-off, I'm afraid."

Ann drew her legs up for him to take them off all the way, and he tossed them somewhere she wasn't looking, transfixed by his bedroom eyes. Before he would shrug off his jacket, he pulled the white handkerchief from its front pocket and unfolded it once. "We can't afford to leave anything behind on the sheets..." he muttered and reached down to tuck it between her legs under the skirt, his thumb briefly pressing against her sensitive clit. 

That short-lived motion of his hand between her legs had begun to excite her, but she managed to lay still and keep quiet, knowing there was something much more considerable to come. She swallowed when she peered and noticed the bulge in his pants, pointed directly toward her, lying in wait to take its prize. 

Mr. Moreau held his alluring stare as he unfastened his belt's buckle and pulled it out from the loops of his pants, laying it on the bed beside them. Ann watched with intent when his fingers crept to unzip the fly, then unbutton his underwear beneath to reveal his hardness to her at last. Fluid beaded at its tip before trailing down the head, and the girl's stomach could have flipped at the sight. Most grown women had never thought him to be particularly large, but for Ann, he was going to be more than enough. It was difficult for her to imagine it fitting well inside, yet she still felt some wetness seep from her slit in anticipation, instinct defeating all logic.

Meanwhile his erection raged with impatience, but its owner betrayed it, hesitating. Whatever exuded from her would provide their only lubrication, Mr. Moreau realized with a frown. Letting his hand beneath her skirt again, he probed her folds with his finger as they became gradually wetter. Experimentally, he stuck the very tip of it inside, to which she gasped wantonly and clenched around the digit until he shortly withdrew. It wasn't going to be the most comfortable experience, but he believed she was ready to endure it.

He moved up to position himself between her legs, glancing down, "Ready...?" She nodded and swallowed, putting her arms around his neck before spreading them further to allow him easier access. Both shuddered when their parts met, the head of his cock being gently pressed against her vulva, coaxing her folds apart beneath her skirt. Watching her expression, he was as soft with it as he had ever been as he applied a little more pressure, though she still keened. There was certainly much resistance in her, physically, but brave willingness, emotionally. 

With a sharp inhale, she opened up for him almost like a rose - the head of his length had delved inside her.

Before she had even known it, Ann's virginity was gone, stolen from her the night before she would turn twelve. The girl questioned how she could have no regret, what anyone else would think of it, but quickly refocused on what was currently inside her; there was still a ways for it to go.

Mr. Moreau had made himself her first, and he prayed, her only. Even if they ended up separated, she was never going to forget this moment; in a way, he would still be staying with her forever. Whether or not that would manifest into something of remorse for either of them was what strangely thrilled him about it the most. Giving her a peck on the lips in reassurance, he had stopped at that point for a few moments, hopefully allowing for at least some of the initial discomfort and shock to fade. From there he was going to take it as slowly and easily as he could, no matter what his body urged of him. Under Mr. Moreau laid a small, fragile thing in comparison to him, and he could never afford to hurt her.

He penetrated slightly deeper and mouthed at her neck. "Tell me if you want no more of this," he reminded her, wincing pleasurably at her tautness. If she ever did ask him to stop, however, it would be nearly excruciating for the man to follow through. He didn't believe he had ever felt more enamored than he was right then.

Ann said nothing, still complying even as her insides stretched painfully to accommodate him as he pushed further. "Shh..." he cooed when she whimpered beneath him, "I know." His breathing became more labored as he continued to go as deep as it would allow. Finally, the man had buried himself inside to the hilt, and he rested atop her, marveling how he had never felt anything so tight around him. This was already so much better any of his romps with women long past; he would never go back, never give Ann up, even if it would give him the world.

With his mouth on her throat, Mr. Moreau adjusted himself slightly above her, unable to decide whether it was meant as preparation for himself or the girl of the electrifying pleasure that was soon to begin for them. He would have liked to think this was all for her, but his carnal, sickly desires slowly took control - he would be satiating himself most of all. Slowly, he began his thrusts.

He planted what must have been dozens of small kisses along her neck as he rocked his hips, hiking her skirt all the way past her waist. Mentally, it took all of Mr. Moreau's might not to plow the girl in her tight heat, but this alone still felt heavenly to him. "Oh, Annabelle..." he moaned out, burying his face into her shoulder, " _Je ne désire rien d'autre._ " 

Despite not being able to understand what he said, the sound of French itself rumbling through his chest, along with her full name which he had never called her by, sparked Ann's arousal more. "Mmm..." she whined as the friction grew inside her, pleasure eventually rivaling the discomfort.

It took only a few more of his gentle thrusts before she could sense heat and euphoria building deep within. Removing her face from his shoulder, a wail almost made its way from the girl's throat before Mr. Moreau hushed her, frantically smothering her open mouth with his own. It wasn't long after until Ann's climax ripped through her, and he growled as her walls contracted violently around him and her small fingers dug into his back through his shirt. The fact that he had managed to satisfy her in spite of the pain of her first time was driving him closer to his own release; no matter what she might have asked, begged, he wasn't going to stop there. He couldn't.

As she listened to each of his grunts and shallow heaves, Ann whimpered when pain developed in her lower abdomen as the man above her had begun thrusting harder than he originally intended to, hopelessly lost in the pursuit of his own pleasure within her. Feeling his orgasm impending like a bat out of hell, he moved his arm to wrap it around her shoulder, which he swiftly bit down on. Then, muffled by her skin, he groaned as he spilled forth inside her for the first time.

Ann gasped severely and clung to him as tightly as he did her when she felt an unfamiliar liquid fill her in several surges, going as far as it could before it ran back down her walls. Soon enough, it was all over. His spasms came to an end as he grew exhausted, and he finally lowered his body. being careful not to set his weight on the little girl beneath him. With a quiet moan, the man placed a kiss on her jaw before resting his head against her neck, regaining his breath as she did the same. Slowly, he pulled his limp cock out.

Her hole had been left gaping open, feeling sore and oddly empty. She blinked away the remaining stars from behind her eyes.

Zipping his pants, Mr. Moreau moved away to look under her skirt and inspect the mess that was made on the handkerchief, if any. A little misplaced from the action before, he wasn't fazed to see some of her fluids along with his semen dripping out onto it, but to his discontent also made out something darker, spots of blood. "Ann..." he hummed with pity, taking it in hand and gently dabbing away whatever was left between her legs, "I'm sorry."

Backing out with the ruined cloth, he kissed her flushed cheek before gathering his belt and jacket and leaving the bed to go to the bathroom. After the door was shut and she heard the shower faucet turn on from inside, she sat up stiffly.

The experience had been confusing, with intermingled pain and pleasure, but it was exhilarating either way. With some dismay, she thought back to his finish inside her, _Is this what makes me pregnant?_ As she had earlier that morning, Ann tried to recall what else had been taught during that brief sex ed course besides masturbation. Of course at that point she knew the parts of the two genders and what they did with them, but still did not fully understand how a woman would conceive. Mr. Moreau wanted a baby with her? She was far too young for it, not even grown up herself.

While the man was taking his shower, she took back her discarded underwear from the other side of the bed and got up to change out of her dress into a more comfortable nightgown. She pulled down the comforter to tuck herself in, settling into the pillow and sheets wearily.

Several minutes later, Mr. Moreau came out from the bathroom in a loose-fitting shirt and his underwear, holding his bundle of old clothes and disposing of them in the laundry bag near the luggage. As he approached and rested on the side of the bed, she looked at him with question, to which he quickly caught on and waited for her to say whatever was on her mind. He dreaded she would tell him she much didn't care for what they had done, at least not as much as he clearly had.

"Um..." she shyly began, "what you just did inside me...is that what makes me pregnant?"

He wasn’t sure whether she was thinking of the act altogether or what he had left behind, but answered nonetheless, "You won't get pregnant because I took contraception."

Ann cocked an eyebrow, “I thought only girls took that.”

Having forgotten before, he left her side to turn off the lamp across the room, "This is...something else, for men. It isn't available in pharmacies." After it was switched, only what little sunlight remained illuminated the room through its windows. She struggled to hold back a yawn as he returned to the bed, "I never knew about it." 

He sat, ready to pull down the bedding to join her, "Hardly anyone does."

"Like us?"

"Indeed..." he leaned to kiss her forehead, and she smiled. Though as far as they were concerned, _no one_ did, and it was going to stay that way.

She sank deep into the bedding until her face was nearly buried under it, mumbling, "There’s something in my bag...can you get it? Please?"

"What is it?" he got up again to go to the foot of the bed, where it was kept with their other things.

"My stuffed animal..."

Unzipping it open, he reached inside the duffel bag to find a white plush horse buried among her clothing. Being her favorite stuffed animal for the several years she had it, out of a collection she had kept under her bed at home, Ann couldn't bring herself to abandon it for her family's trip. "His name is Knight," she quipped.

" _Night?_ Like the time of day?" he stood in place, lifting and looking it over closely with doubt.

"No, like a 'knight in shining armor'."

The dozens of homonyms in English were things that had always confused him about the language when he was learning it as a teenager, but French wasn’t without its oddities either. He could see part of the irony in the name, with _'Night'_ being one anyone would expect for a dark animal. He liked her sense of humor.

Obliged, Mr. Moreau returned to the bedside to hand it to the girl, and he gave a gentle smile as he interrogated her, "Why do you need this for comfort, when I'll be in bed with you?" He thought he could be her new 'knight'. 

"I just like having it!" she laughed, hitting the toy against his arm playfully. In a rebellious manner she then took Knight up in her arms and turned over to flop into the mattress, facing away from him as she laid. Eyes shut tightly, she snuggled it with a smirk, probably to see how jealous the man might become. 

Mr. Moreau never thought he would have to compete with a stuffed animal for a girl's attention - maybe it was what he got for pursuing her instead of a real woman. With a soft chuckle, he finally crawled into bed to huddle his body beside hers. He still allowed her to keep Knight as he laid an arm around her torso and nestled his face behind her neck, overjoyed to have her in his bed at last. It was just their first night out of many. 

With eyes falling half-lidded, he wondered when her parents would return to find her missing and report the incident to the police, if they hadn't already. As sleep took him over, though, Mr. Moreau's concerns about the beginning of the inevitable search for her would have to wait until tomorrow, when he expected the whole resort to be perplexed by the girl's vanishing act, staged by none other than him.

* * *

Lazing on the bed nearest to the window in his pajama pants, Jackson had flipped between many channels on the TV to a national news one out of sheer boredom after being left all alone in the Clarkes’ room for what felt like several hours - he hadn’t bothered keeping track. His mind eventually wandered elsewhere as it numbed to the heated political rhetoric being presented before him on the screen, and he began to question what Ann was really out doing at the moment. He glanced to notice how dark it had become outside since she had left.

_Does it really take this long to look through a store?_

He always believed women were incredibly slow when they shopped, but this seemed excessive. Maybe she had met a new friend there, and decided to fool around with them in the shop, or someplace else in the hotel for a while. He was never one to worry too much, especially about his annoying sister.

His mouth stretched wide open in a yawn when he heard the door heave open, and readied himself to ask the girl in question for some sort of explanation. But before he could do that, he instead heard the voice of his father say with exhaustion, "We’re back, finally...way too many people there, honestly." He had never expected them to return before Ann would. Jackson swallowed, hoping their relaxing evening at the spa would have somehow calmed their nerves well enough that they wouldn’t worry any more than he did. He was doubtful, still. 

As he and his wife casually walked further inside, Mr. Clarke glanced through the bathroom doorway, dark and empty, before looking back at his son, "Where’s Ann?"

The teenager shrugged and stared at the TV, not even taking a glance at his parents. He mentally prepared himself for a chew-out - three, two, one...

"You were supposed to be watching her!" Mrs. Clarke said, predictably. At least she still had no idea he had been letting Ann do her own thing separate from him whenever they were gone for several days, now - his mother would really blow a fuse, then. He rolled his eyes, "...She told me she wanted to go look for something in that store or whatever in the lobby."

"That's what she told you? When?" she insisted. 

"Like, right after you guys left."

His mother's eyes narrowed as she glanced about the room, "What could she still be doing there? It's been two hours!"

"I literally don't know," he said dismissively, tossing his hands.

Bristling, Mrs. Clarke went to set down her purse among the luggage, only to notice a certain spot on the floor was vacant. She glanced between bags, "Where the hell-?"

"Hm?" her husband turned to her to see her bent over and rummaging through their things with her hand.

"Uh, her bag's not here."

Jackson sat up straighter and peered down at the floor from the bed, truly befuddled. He said nothing; he could have sworn it was there earlier, even after Ann had left. Or with his mind muddled by the TV since, had he just remembered inaccurately? "Why would she-" his mother's mouth was slack as she continued to gaze down, her eyes darting around the floor in building panic. Mr. Clarke turned back to his son with a glare, "What in the hell do you think she is doing right now?"

He tore his eyes away from the things dispersed on the floor and furrowed them at his father. "Who knows? Why don’t you just text - her...?" he happened to look beside him to see that her phone along with her key card had been deliberately left on the nightstand. _Oh, shit..._

Both parents had followed his gaze, and Mrs. Clarke approached the items like they were relics, "No. No, no, no..." She never looked away from them, hardly believing what she saw, but beginning to assume the worst. Ann had essentially locked herself out of their room, they all realized, and she hardly ever went anywhere without her phone.

"This means she isn’t coming back."

The boy could catch a glimpse of grief mixed with the outrage in his mother's eyes, as if she was questioning why Ann would choose to run like this, especially when she had seemed so carefree during their vacation, when they thought she would be the least troubled over anything. For whatever reason, she could never have let them know how she actually felt. With guilt beginning to develop in him, Jackson knew he did not always treat his sister as well he could have, but had it really been so bad? No, there must have been an underlying reason for this, something that was kept shrewdly invisible from the family. 

Mr. Clarke chastised him, "Why didn’t _you_ ever try to text her? If you saw this before and told us we would've come back immediately and probably have a better chance of finding her than we do now. You never did!" Not even bothered to wait for an answer from the boy, he swiped both of his daughter's things before heading to the door, muttering, "We have to go to the front desk...tell them to get police over here. This _reeks_."

His wife followed him briskly, and after opening the door and letting her out into the hall before him, he turned back, "Jackson, you’re getting dressed again and you're coming with us! You’ll tell them everything you know."

When the door was shut, the boy turned off the TV and quickly climbed off the bed, grabbing some clothes from his luggage and shutting himself in the bathroom to change. Ann usually preferred to stay out of trouble, but now she was going to be in a world of it, if she wasn't already. Looking over the counter as he set his clothes down on it, Jackson just noticed that her bag of toiletries had disappeared as well. She _really_ had packed for the long haul.

He shuddered as his mind ran through all the possibilities of where his sister could be at that moment, and with who. Nothing good ever came out of strangers who tried to entice children away with them - how could she be so foolish as to fall for one of their tricks?

Throwing on his pair of jeans and hoodie with haste, he shut the bathroom light off and headed outside to join his awaiting parents. They had been standing restlessly just in front of the door, and Jackson was shutting it behind him slowly when his father walked off, wasting no time. The family rushed down the hall to take the elevator to the main lobby, with Mr. Clarke practically storming ahead of the others, "The freak who took her won't be able to tell left from right when I'm finished with him; I don't care if I go to jail also!" Behind him, Mrs. Clarke blanched some at his threat, even if it was more than likely an empty one.

"How do you even know it's a dude?" Jackson drawled, catching up beside him.

"Do you see strange women taking girls?" his father retorted as they stopped before the elevator door and pushed the button. Jackson made no reply, stepping inside first followed by his parents - the heart of the matter was that they didn't know anything about this person she had gone with, and in his opinion this was probably the most worrying part of their situation. 

Upon taking the short ride down to the main level, the family had to push past a group waiting in front of its doors to return to their own rooms for the night before they started toward the lobby. As they went, Mr. Clarke paused abruptly to peer into the French Lick Mercantile. He stood in the doorway with the others waiting closely behind as he glanced between shelves. Despite knowing now there was no chance she could be there, he wanted to prove a point, "No, not here, Jackson!"

"Like, _'this is what she told me'_ , bull!" he mocked his son, unbothered to even look at him. Some other guests in the store glanced at them curiously before they moved on, and they eventually reached the front desk where a young woman in a bun occupied herself. She appeared entirely absorbed in some paperwork laid out before her along with some kind of task on the computer's screen next to it. Upon looking up, instead of the wide, plastic smile that would normally be given to the guests who approached her, she shot the Clarkes a look of confusion, as if already sensing something was wrong. 

She said nothing, expression going blank as Mr. Clarke explained in a ramble from across the desk, "Hi, we need help from police; my daughter just took off from the hotel and we don't know where she went..."

The clerk seemed to be inexperienced in her position and didn't know what to respond with, likely never having dealt with a guest's issue such as this. Anxiously, she looked behind her toward a man with his work pack slung over his shoulder, leaving an office behind the desk for the night, "Sir?"

"Hm?" with wide eyes and his grabbed attention, he approached the clerk and the group before her. The tag on his dress shirt read _'General Manager'_ \- Jackson presumed he would be the one to allow police to be summoned to the resort to help them. 

Looking back at the troubled family, she said timidly to her boss, "They’re telling me something happened to their daughter..." The man only glanced between them until out of concern, an older, seasoned security guard who had been planted in front of the staircase nearby came over to them, "What happened?"

Mr. Clarke pointed at him, "Do you watch the lobby?"

"Yes, I do-"

"Have you seen-" he quickly opened his phone and showed him a recent picture of his daughter, "-this girl at all, going out that door with a blue duffel bag earlier?"

The other man squinted at the image, "No...I'm afraid not." Guilt crossed his face when Mr. Clarke withdrew his phone and put it away in disappointment. Given his age, Jackson wasn't surprised that this man may have just stood by as his sister and her captor made their escape, well-disguised as normal guests leaving the hotel, and that he had been forgetful of her appearance. He looked to him like he was thinking about the same thing.

Leaning over the desk, the manager intervened, "But do you know who might have taken her? Any family friends, other relatives staying here with you guys...?"

Mrs. Clarke shook her head, "We have no idea who she went with. There’s nobody else here we know and we literally know nothing about this person."

"A complete stranger, then..." the guard looked to the manager and clerk with worry, who both mirrored his expression. _Makes this a hell of a lot harder,_ Jackson thought. Cases with there being known details about the perpetrator were often solved rather quickly - if only the Clarkes had some of them. 

"Do you know whether she's in immediate danger, by any chance?" the guard continued to question. 

"I don't know, can't we just _assume_ she is?" Mr. Clarke was rightfully growing impatient. For all they knew, Ann may have been lured by a serial killer, and each wasted moment could result them in bringing back her defiled corpse rather than the daughter they had always known. 

"When was the last time you saw her and where?"

"When she and her brother here went up to our room before my wife and I went over to the spa, must have been around six o’clock."

The guard looked up and thought for a moment, "...Yeah, I was standing here watching at around that time, but I think I went to take a short break soon after, and I regret to tell you that could've been when she slipped out..."

With a sigh, the manager set down his work pack on the floor and went to grab a pen and notepad from another desk behind him, "I think it’s a little early to file a police report, but..." Laying them on the front desk, he turned his attention to the clerk’s computer, typing in an address and clicking around some few times before leaving it like so. "It smells...bad," Mr. Clarke finished his sentence for him and turned away, glancing at his wife and son and saying further, "but I swear, when we get her back she will be answering to _me_."

Upon receiving no replies from anyone, whether out of agreement or indifference, he continued with snark, "Seriously, _why_ would she run? Out of anything other than complete disregard for how we might feel? No reason for it."

Meanwhile the manager had picked up the pen and poised himself to record whatever information he asked for, "Full name?" Mr. Clarke turned back around and gave the girl's name plainly, spelling it out for the other man. 

"And how old is she?"

"She'll be twelve tomorrow."

Something lit up in the manager's lowered gaze, "That’s interesting...wouldn’t be surprised if that has to do with it." Doing the math in his head in an instant, he recorded the date of birth, "Height and weight? The police will want that, too."

"She's about 4'10", eighty pounds...?" Mr. Clarke looked to his wife for assurance, and she nodded. The last time he could recall those being measured was whenever she had been last taken for a check-up at the doctor's office. It wasn't recent, but he doubted those measurements had changed too much since. 

After writing that down, the manager directed his attention to Jackson, "I want to hear your side now. Weren't you there at the time of her disappearance?" The teenager nodded and explained to the man where Ann had told him she had gone, and how he had seen her leave their hotel room with his own eyes.

"That’s what she actually said to you?"

"Yeah."

"But didn’t you see her take her bag?" the guard looked at the boy skeptically as he asked. As he went back in the recesses of his mind, Jackson hesitated, still recalling with wonder from before, "She didn't go out with it..."

His father leaned over the desk and gaped across at him, " _What?_ "

"She had to have!" spoke Mrs. Clarke.

"I swear to God, she didn't. I watched her go out and she wasn’t carrying anything."

With anger that was seldom ever seen in her, his mother's voice rose, "There is no way she walked out that door without that damn bag!"

"But-" the boy faltered as his mind reeled to that exact moment he had last seen her earlier that evening. He distinctly remembered it being left on the floor like it was supposed to, never hanging from Ann's shoulder as she had left the room. Glancing, he was stuck with no explanation for them.

"You're trying to tell me things disappear into thin air now," grinding his teeth, Mr. Clarke turned red at what must have been none other than his son's blatant lie to him, "Jackson, I swear...if you just allowed her to run with someone and you're covering them-!"

"I fucking didn't!"

His language had turned the heads of several people out in the lobby, earning them all disapproving eyes from afar. His father turned to him and said lowly, "You'd better watch your mouth."

Jackson blinked and returned his glare, wondering how he could ever assume he would let his sister go off with a potentially - very likely - dangerous person. It didn't matter that they often didn't get along very well; she was his own flesh and blood as well as their parents'. Leaving him be with those inner rants, Mr. Clarke returned his attention to the manager and security guard, "She only left her phone and her key card behind." He pulled the things out from his pocket and placed them on the counter. 

The security guard reached for the phone and gestured to the family members with it in-hand, "I bet you that whoever she went with told her to leave this, 'cause most kids who leave and don’t want to be found don't actually have the common sense for it...these devices are how a lot get brought home."

"So...they must've both agreed to make this as difficult for us as possible. She knows exactly what she's doing, too-" he stifled what would have been a delusional laugh, and his wife and son both gave him looks of displeasure. The guard appeared a little taken aback as well, but replied still, "Yeah, I mean, I don't have experience as a detective or nothing, but I have this feeling we might be dealing with a pretty conniving son of a gun.”

And Ann probably knew it very well - she must have been assured by this stranger that she would not be found. He couldn't imagine she would ever want to be taken by someone who didn’t know what they were doing, only to be found and taken back to them to face the music.

Mr. Clarke slumped over the counter and ran a hand through his hair, thinking aloud, "All we know is the guy is smart..."

And nothing else. A few moments of silence followed, with each person around the front desk seeming to struggle to even process the current standings as they kept their troubled thoughts to themselves. Jackson quietly watched as the manager took some time on the computer to file a report to the police online.

"Ok, I think this warrants an investigation..." he sighed once finished, leaving the computer and picking up the notepad, "we can chit-chat more with the officers when they get here." 

Along with the other man, the security guard began stepping away from the desk, "Yeah, I'll have them look through this phone, also. She must have at least texted the guy to arrange this, anyway. They can track them down from there." They both left the Clarkes to disappear someplace in the back.

A minute later, from his office, a call was made to the local police department by the manager, some of the details he explained to them barely audible by those standing outside. Trying to listen as well as the guests, the clerk resumed her position at the desk and said softly, "Try not to worry too much, sir...I’m sure she’s alright; she should return safely." By her expression she seemed to think otherwise, however, and the family could find no relief in her words. She had only done what she was trained to do - giving whoever she served an illusion of reassurance no matter the outcome they were more likely to face. 

With great unease, the Clarkes wandered away from the desk into the sitting area of the lobby, unable to do much else except to wait. The three chose to sit in separate places to ruminate, with Jackson settling in a spot on a couch closest to the hotel's entrance, and he could hardly believe when a lump was beginning to form in his throat. Without having a single clue of her intentions until it was too late, he had allowed his own sister to slip through his fingers.

It hadn't been long until police cars bereft of their sirens or glaring colors showed up at the resort in the twilight.


	7. VII

###### Sunday, June 11th, 2017

Even as he was still held by the harsh grip of heavy sleep, aggressive, pounding raps against the door still found a way to reverberate through Mr. Moreau's skull.

_Open up!_

_You're under arrest!_

_We know what you have in there!_

From whatever preventing cause, he found he could do nothing to answer to them as their strikes only grew stronger in response to that, until then both card and chain locks broke open to give way to the door and the room was bathed in blinding light behind the dark, faceless silhouettes who had come to rush in on him in a frenzy.

The man tossed under the sheets until finally he could tear himself out of his sleep with a nasal gasp. Blinking and propping himself on his arms, short of breath, he looked through the dark to see that the door still remained perfectly intact on its hinges, and none of the imaginary officers' threatening shouts could be heard. As his eyes adjusted until the room no longer appeared so black, he gave himself a few moments to allow his breathing to come to a soft slow again.

He realized sometime during the night he had turned over on his back further to his side of the bed than he could remember, leaving Ann alone without a warm body to rest against. He looked at the girl almost ruefully as she continued her sleep in peace, probably dreaming of an innocence now lost, or whatever other pleasant things girls like her deserved to dream about. 

Mr. Moreau had that nightmare coming to him.

He never really believed dreams had much meaning, but now the theory that they were a manifestation of someone's inner thoughts and concerns sounded much more plausible than it had ever before. How the police had no faces hadn't been what spooked him about them - only their inescapable, and completely faultless, accusation against him. They knew exactly what he had done, and it could never be forgiven.

Christ, he needed a cigarette after that. He began pushing the covers off himself and reached over to blindly take his phone from the nightstand and check the time - it read a few minutes past two o'clock. At least after he woke again later that morning he probably wouldn't have to leave Ann to go out for another smoke.

Before climbing out of bed, Mr. Moreau looked again at the girl in question, draped beneath the sheets. He would have leaned across to kiss her head, but didn't want to disturb her. Slowly, he stood to walk with repose around the bed and to the living area, where he had last left his lighter and cigarettes on the coffee table, then to the 'smoking' window designated for their use. He pushed away the curtains and carefully drew the window open to breathe in the cool night air that would contrast to the smoke's heat. After going to take the things off the table, he sat with them in the chair and leaned toward the sill until his face and hands were almost poking outside as he lit the cigarette.

The nicotine calmed him and seemed to clear his mind in the instant following his first drag from it, and the smoke came out more as a relieved sigh from him over the window sill. With the cigarette still held slightly out the window to minimize the smell it would leave inside, Mr. Moreau sat back in the chair lazily to look back at his girl with pride.

As she slept undisturbed, Ann's face looked almost like that of a little cherub as she glowed from the heavenly moonlight that came across the room through the window. She could have been the embodiment of peace.

He kept vigil over her for a few more minutes until the last of his cigarette had been reduced to a nub, and he tossed it someplace outside before standing to set his lighter back where he had gotten it. Glancing between her and the window, he figured he would leave it open for the night, to continue bringing in fresh air for Ann. He was about to go and climb back into bed with her, but then thought a quick wash of his face in the sink wasn't a bad idea either.

Mr. Moreau didn’t bother switching on the light upon entering the bathroom to turn on the sink faucet, quickly splashing some cold water over his face. Rubbing a hand down it in a vain attempt to dry the dampened skin, he looked up to the mirror warily. His deathly pale complexion stared back at him, and even in the dark, he could still make out the hollows of age beginning to form on his face. It was so much less than dashing, this way, than he normally believed it was. He knew his smoking wasn't any help and figured he needed to quit soon, not only for his sake but for Ann's - cancer can originate even from secondhand smoke, over time.

Reining his mind back to the present moment, everything up leading up to it seemed almost too perfect, without a single crumb left behind in his and Ann's trail. Had he really taken every precaution necessary? In a certain, unsettling way, something didn't sit right with him. Mr. Moreau's career often had him second-guessing himself, and even if this plot obviously was never a part of it, he had determined from the beginning to treat it very similarly to the tasks given to him.

He stood still before the counter for many moments, thoroughly reviewing everything that had happened ever since he had met the girl on Tuesday, particularly during the first couple of days when they had been anywhere in the hotel but in his room - out in the garden, through the lobby, the elevator...

His blood chilled when he realized there was something he had completely forgotten.

There was security footage. The cameras that kept their constant watch over the halls, lobby, wherever else, had completely gone over Mr. Moreau's head - literally, this entire time. Showing Ann traveling through the halls over the past few days, the specific footage they chose to retrieve would later lead them directly to the room he was currently standing in, just like he had dreamed. That nightmare and his wake that followed must have served as a warning to him - if he had slept through the whole night, he would have probably been met with a very rude awakening the next morning, and it all would have become reality. This affair would have been over before it had hardly even begun.

It was going to be if he didn't do something about it, and fast.

In any building where there were CCTV cameras, somewhere there was going to be a CCTV control room. It was probably located in the lower level, hidden directly below the lobby perhaps. Upon effectively avoiding the few staff who would be down there this late, if any at all, he didn't believe this room should be too much of a challenge for him to find. As this kind of task had actually been a part of his training many years ago and he had gained some experience with it, from there he could access their storage on the computers and destroy whichever pieces of footage had the potential to expose him and his intentions.

He had no choice but to do it if he wanted any chance to keep the girl, his career, and his sorry rear end from going to the slammer.

Mr. Moreau didn’t believe he had ever faced pressure as heavy-handed as this; not even his boss would inflict this much. With new panic that nearly sent bile up his throat, he hurried out of the bathroom to flip open his suitcase, glancing at Ann as she continued her sleep as he quietly gathered a few garments. It may have been a waste of clean clothes, but right now he wasn't bothered by it. In the case he was going to be compromised, he still wanted to look presentable. Even if it didn’t actually matter, that in the end his life would be ruined either way, he wasn’t allowing for a notably ridiculous mugshot.

He returned with them in his arms to the bathroom to dress with haste, then combed the mats out of his hair out of habit, just so it wouldn't be too disheveled later. His mask was going to be worn as well, and he pulled it over his head so that all was concealed except his eyes, brow, and mouth; the features almost seemed to float among darkness in the mirror. 

There were only two more things he needed, then he would finally be ready to leave and get this over with. This sort of situation was the exact reason he always packed his spy equipment packed among his other things, even if he was on vacation and a plot involving them wasn't in mind. He never knew if or when he was going to be in trouble.

Keeping an eye on the bed, he left the bathroom and dug for his gloves which waited for him in the suitcase, struggling to see and pick each of them out in all their dense black pigmentation. He continued to watch the girl as he slid his hands in the leather; he would slip out and back into the room later without her ever knowing. Moving in front of the nightstand, he took hold of the invisibility watch and fastened it around his wrist, his second greatest secret after Ann.

Looking at her one last time with certainty, then approaching the door, Mr. Moreau swore to himself that he would do everything in his power to ensure he would come back for her. He was about to reach for the doorknob when he heard the sheets rustle.

"Claude...?"

He froze in his steps, stifling a sigh. He had been so convinced Ann was a heavier sleeper, oblivious the entire way through as he rummaged through his suitcase and went to the bathroom, and even when he had tossed in bed from his nightmare beforehand. But then right as he was about to head out the door she had risen from her slumber anyway. Slowly turning his gaze toward her, he saw that the girl had propped herself up on her hands in bed with her stuffed animal laying beside to her, messy hair veiling her face in the dark. In such an innocent facade, it would be hard for anyone to believe her virginity had just been taken the night before.

"Where are you going?" she rasped.

Mr. Moreau's legs felt heavy as stone, as did his mind all of a sudden. There was a terrible temptation for him to waste his fresh clothes and the time spent getting into them only to undress again and return to her in bed, to lay his claim on her once more. But he sparred against it without mercy, having something very important to fulfill if he wanted any more nights with her after this one. He glanced over different points on the door, not looking at her again, "I have to...take care of something, _chérie._ "

But judging from what he saw in the corner of his eye, she didn't move or reply, possibly trying to figure out what that could be as she considered his mask, but not feeling it was her business to ask. It wasn't, and he made up his mind not to hesitate to be stern with her over that. 

"Go back to sleep. I'll be here when you wake again."

Though Ann never said any questioning words to him, he swore he could see a leery look on her face through the darkness. He waited until she laid back down again, hoping she was still too drowsy to notice the unusual _whoosh_ sound as his watch cloaked, going out the door at last.

As he made his way through them invisibly, he observed how eerie the hotel’s halls were in all their lights when they seemed so dead. He knew the casino still had to have been active, though, with it being a 24/7 facility that somehow still managed to attract gamblers that late. Hopefully that was where _all_ the activity was, especially from any security guards working the night shift.

He took the several flights of stairs which eventually led him directly down to the lobby - even if nobody was there to see it with their own eyes, an elevator operating seemingly on its own would look more than suspicious in the security footage being recorded in that very moment.

Recoiling at how audibly his shoes tapped against the tile floors and echoed through the lobby with each step, he stopped to briefly look around the mostly dark and empty expanse. The lights above the front desk had been left on, but nobody was there attending to it. A single door behind it gave access to the heart of the hotel, where a labyrinth of endless offices and meeting rooms for the staff resided, and he hoped where there would be a way to the lower level. 

Mr. Moreau went behind the desk and quickly looked back to make one final sweep for any witnesses in the lobby before heading in. It took a few turns and retraces as he passed by and glanced at each door and placard, but to his relief, he eventually found the stairwell that descended to the sought-after substructure below.

Normally he would have timidly looked over the railing for anyone to be seen at the bottom, but if there was, he would have no trouble ghosting past them, and continued down each step without a second thought.

After opening the final heavy door leading to them, he was taken aback at the design of the lower level's dark halls, or rather the lack of it. The walls appeared to be made of the rough, jagged blocks of limestone used for the building's foundation over a hundred-fifty years ago. It resembled a dungeon, perhaps even the catacombs beneath Paris. Maybe if only the lights were turned he would instead be seeing a corridor lined with grimacing skulls. A chill coursed through him.

Not wishing to waste any more of his cloak, he begrudgingly began moving, not seeing any doors in the hall for some ways, and growing frustrated. It had to be down there; he saw no sign of it among the rooms on the main level. As he continued, Mr. Moreau checked his watch to find that its cloak meter was running low faster than he had anticipated. Only a few of the small blue bars were left on the screen, and before too long they all disappeared.

 _Merde_ , he involuntarily decloaked, and suddenly there was a discernible man in a place he wasn't supposed to be. It would take five minutes for his cloak to recharge again, five minutes too long. Nobody had better show up in the hall during that time - at best he would be facing a janitor of the sort who could only muster to run and dial the police, at worst, a beefy security guard who was more than ready to snap the 'spook' like a twig.

But as far as he was concerned, standing in the same spot he was revealed and looking both ways through it, the entire passage seemed empty. Mr. Moreau squinted in the direction he was originally going and noticed that a fork in the hall appeared to be coming up. He clung to one wall as he drew nearer, then peered around the corner and marveled as he thought he was seeing what he had been looking for. Embedded into the stone, what must have been the door to the CCTV's lair had been cracked, and the unmistakable blue light from the many screens inside spilled out into the dark corridor. To his great discontent, somebody must have still been in there. Keeping his head low, hopefully so that his face wouldn't reflect on a monitor, he dared to peak his head inside.

An operator who had never gone home for the night had apparently instead fallen asleep in the swivel chair in front of the typical set up of computer monitors, followed by at least a dozen other screens that displayed their current watch over the resort in black-and-white. He was slumped over the desk in front of the keyboard, right where Mr. Moreau needed to work.

Drawing in a deep breath, he managed to keep his composure as he crept from behind lowly, eyes never once leaving the chair and the deadbeat it belonged to. He slowly moved beside it to get a closer look at the other man and his workspace, followed by a very reluctant stretch of his arm to wave his hand in front of the operator's face and a quick withdrawal of it; there was no response. He was out cold.

Mr. Moreau noticed a paper coffee cup on the desk near him and scoffed; its contents had done nothing to help the operator tonight.

Unfortunately, though, he was going to have to kindly move out of the way for him. Holding his breath, he slowly began pushing the chair on its wheels across the floor to the far end of the desk, so incredibly careful not to wake the beast in the process. The operator's limp arms shifted into an awkward position, and his neck had twisted almost dangerously to Mr. Moreau's fear, but not even so much as a sleepy grumble came from him despite the movement. He was grateful for this, but he frowned - he wouldn't be surprised if this man could sleep through a tornado. 

Now that he had all the space he needed, his attention warily broke away from the other man to the system he needed to work with. Thankfully, the operator had never logged out, so no real hacking needed to be done. Turning off the cameras for the present moment and future wasn't in his interest, only getting rid of what they had captured in the past. There was quite a task ahead for Mr. Moreau to find all the exact pieces of footage where he could be seen with the girl and dismantle them.

Clicking about quickly but without rashness, he took a glance over at the operator beside him every so often as he infiltrated the stored footage. He flinched once when a snore rose from him, but not much else afterward. It became concerning how his entire fate seemed to rest on this sloth's shoulders, on whether or not his body decided to rouse at any time.

He didn't keep much track of said time as he became fully fixated on sifting through hours worth of CCTV film, narrowing it all down and finding what he wanted after remembering the exact points of each day in which he met with Ann. With a smug look given to the operator who hadn't a clue, soon, all the evidence was gone.

This person who was supposed to be keeping an eagle eye over the hotel's surveillance was certainly going to lose his job over this and wind up suddenly without any source of income, but the source of all the blame just tomorrow. It was too bad for him.

Mr. Moreau checked the time on the computer to find that he had spent over thirty minutes eliminating what he needed to. Now there wasn't a single trace left; there was nothing so satisfying to him. What he had done was much more covert than deleting all footage or disabling the CCTV system altogether, like many criminals would do. It was not going to be noticeable until the police actively hunted for the footage in which he destroyed, and from there they would be facing quite a conundrum. Glad yet exhausted, he couldn't wait to make the long trip back up to his room and get back in bed with Ann, then finally rest without any burden to linger over him.

But first, he needed to make sure the operator would never gather that his workspace and the system he was counted on to be watching had ever been breached once he woke. He left the computer in the closest state to the way he had found it - on the home screen, still logged in. Finding that the operator was still deep in the throes of sleep and hadn't even budged since he was moved across the desk, he saw no reason not to bring him back in front of the computer.

But unlike the computer, the operator's arms and head over the desk weren't going to be in quite the same position as Mr. Moreau found them, but that could be forgiven. The other man would probably think nothing of it when he woke, only that he had naturally changed position on his own during his sleep. Very gently, he pulled the chair back to where it was previously, close enough. Leaving him be for the night, Mr. Moreau sighed through his nose, stepped closer to the door, and checked his watch to prepare to cloak again and hurry back, now that it was fully charged. 

Upon returning to the lobby, some misplaced documents and other objects on the front desk told him that somebody had really been occupying it while he was in the CCTV control room, but to the best of his luck that person had gone away once again, never to see him, or rather just the 'haunted' door to the office area, opening. Feeling so hesitant from his weariness but determined to be with Ann again the same, he scaled up the flights of stairs he had come down on.

Unlocking the entrance to his room, he drew it open as quietly and narrowly as possible, entering and decloaking. He shut it slowly and chained it, and he let his eyes adjust to the dark as they fell upon the bed, where Ann’s silhouette laid unmoving. She had turned her head on the pillow away from where he faced her, but it was safe for him to assume she had fallen back into the depths of sleep, like he had asked.

Almost three in the morning, Mr. Moreau yawned just at the thought of that, and wouldn't mind to sleep in later than he usually did and relax the rest of that morning with her, maybe as pay-off for the risks taken to be able to do so in peace.

He ambled to the center of the room and pulled the mask off over his head, handling it to observe its three holes. He was glad he didn't have to rely on this scrap of fabric to remain anonymous tonight, or any other time. Sometimes Mr. Moreau thought his skills were too great for it - he tossed it somewhere inside his open suitcase like an old rag.

Unwilling to wait any longer for the morning that had yet to come, he stripped to his underclothes and climbed under the covers to soon join Ann again in her obliviousness.

* * *

Curled up and blissfully snug under the covers, Ann slowly opened her eyes to find how different Mr. Moreau's room looked in the late morning light. With Knight still tucked in one arm, she turned from her stomach onto her back against the pillow, taking in a deep yawn. The sheer curtains over one of the windows undulated slowly as a nice breeze was carried through it toward her, as if it were nature's gentle greeting for the day. It had always seemed so dark and stuffy before in comparison, she thought, so this was a welcome change to her, especially since she was going to be holed up in there for a few more days at the very least, unable to go outside and enjoy this beautiful weather for herself.

She basked in the room's warmth and allowed herself to space out for a minute until she felt a small shift in the sheets beside her. Then she remembered she wasn't alone in bed the way she was yesterday morning. The girl looked to see the back of Mr. Moreau's head upon his broad shoulders under the sheets, moving slightly with each breath he took.

She was surprised that she had woken before he would, but before she could let it slip her mind entirely, she barely recalled that he had not slept the whole way through the night, waking sometime during it to see him dressed and about to go out the door. Though in her drowsiness she became worried as to what he needed to do and didn’t know for certain how long he had been gone, all he said to her was that he would be there when she woke again, and there he was. That was all that mattered.

A smirk played on her lips. Assuming he was still asleep but not too far from waking, like a jungle cat she crouched and carefully scooted closer to him from behind. She peaked over his shoulder at his restful face on the pillow. "Boo," she softly said close to his ear, and grinned when Mr. Moreau's eyes blinked open and darted up at her. 

Ann's expression must have been infectious; he mirrored it as he shifted beneath her, and she let off him to allow him to roll over to face her. "Happy birthday," he breathed, nudging his face into her shoulder.

She had almost forgotten she just turned twelve, one year closer to adolescence and an end to childhood. She felt she didn't exactly live up to that, though that obviously didn't matter to Mr. Moreau. 

Ann supposed it was her present, being with him. That was the entire idea behind this.

He left gentle kisses along her jaw until he offered his mouth to hers, which she took eagerly. They both tasted typically like morning, though there seemed to be a hint of smoke in Mr. Moreau's mouth; his breath against her face smelled of it, too. Surely that's what he had done when he was out last night, but then what had he needed his mask for?

Quickly, artfully torn from that thought almost as if he had known of it, Ann laughed slightly into the kiss when he snaked a hand to the back of her head and leaned in to deepen it, unmindful as to how he was pushing her closer to the brink of their bed. She let Knight fall to the floor.

Her lips did not quite keep up with his passionate ones, but she allowed them to face the onslaught happily. After all he had shown her she was still an inhibited, inexperienced kisser, but in time she would learn.

At last, Mr. Moreau pulled away with a peck on the cheek and carefully drew his hand out from her hair before leaving her in bed. Ann stretched and reclined against the pillow as she watched him go to his suitcase to gather fresh clothes. With the clothing all folded in one arm a moment later, he smiled at her and asked sort of as a joke, "Are you only going to laze about in bed all day?"

She nodded and brought a hand up to rub at her eye, smiling through a somewhat pained expression. Given, she had very little else to do, needing to hide in his room from the search for an indefinite amount of time before he would take her home.

"I'm sore..."

Mr. Moreau frowned, just reminded of what they had done the night before, and that it had hurt to some degree. He laid down his clothes next to the suitcase and approached, sitting on the edge of the bed beside her and pulling down the comforter and sheets from her lower body, "Let me see." He bent lower so that her girlhood was clearly visible to him and placed a hand on her thigh, encouraging her to spread her legs further. It didn't look injured, to his relief, but one could probably tell it had been intruded on and the poor girl deflowered.

She whined softly when he looked, blushing, and he could hardly keep from chuckling. There wasn't a good reason for her to be embarrassed anymore. He thumbed at her thigh, hand inching closer to the abused area, "Where does it hurt?"

"Where you put it inside."

"Yes, but..." he looked more closely. Of course he already knew that, but specifically, was it deep inside where had penetrated her or the very entrance? She flinched as he ghosted his fingers around her ruined entrance, avoiding putting any inside. But given the ecstasy it had endowed him last night, he wished he didn't have to feel sorry for it.

Ann gasped quietly as he unexpectedly bent down and lowered his head between her legs to kiss her lower lips, as if to make it better.

Not exactly able to remedy her, he supposed she had a valid excuse to avoid much movement, or his touch. He pulled back and patted her thigh gently, "Tell me if you want us to try a second time." If she didn't that day, he figured she would come around to it eventually. Even if it was a little painful, surely the more pleasurable side of it would have made it worth another try. All he could do about it was to be patient with her.

"I'll order us breakfast," Mr. Moreau stood up and went to the door, where there was a menu hanging from the knob. He returned to the bedside with it and handed it to her, "Did your family ever order anything from this?"

She shook her head, looking over the options for the first time. The 'Breakfast Classic' was tempting, the food described in it similar to the normal American fare her family liked to prepare at home. The girl would have rather not been reminded of them too much from then forward, this was all the start of a different life, but she didn't think it would hurt to go with it anyway, being just food. "Is that okay?" she turned the menu towards him and pointed and pointed at the item. He grunted his approval, offering to take it from her before leaving her side.

After he ordered the food over the phone, he picked up his clothes and resumed getting himself ready for the day in the bathroom while they waited. Whenever Mr. Moreau bought meals from that menu before, it usually took about twenty minutes for them to show up.

Ann, meanwhile, was beginning to drift into a pleasant doze until she heard several knocks at the door. How quickly had time really passed? She sat up in bed and glanced to the one to the bathroom, "I think it's here!" She was a touch frightened, though, at the chance it might have been housekeeping instead, who would probably force themselves inside no matter what Mr. Moreau said to them.

"Don't answer it, Ann!" he warned, probably worried the same way as her as he fumbled with some things in the bathroom. Coming out in the next moment mostly dressed except for the tie which hung loose in his shirt collar, he was glad she hadn't tried to get out of bed. He smoothed his hair, took his wallet from the nightstand and opened the door, "Yes?"

He was greeted by a younger room service attendant presenting a cart with the food, "Here you are, sir, your 'Breakfast Classic'."

"Thank you-" his breath caught when the attendant moved to usher him out of his way and try pushing the cart through the doorway, threatening to raid his room by the most hospitable means. He abruptly blocked the cart's entry, "No - this isn't necessary." In case the other man insisted, Mr. Moreau gave a tentative look past the door to his side to Ann in bed. As if reading his mind, she dove under the covers and laid perfectly still.

He didn't, taking a step back, "You're sure?"

"Here-" he opened his wallet and withdrew some cash to set it on the cart before picking up the plate and silverware from it, "I'll be taking this." He had given him a generous tip as well as the payment for the food, hopefully enough as a bribe not to test him any further.

"Ok..." the attendant said, still confused, "Well, enjoy!"

The door was shut on him. That attendant seemed inexperienced, but at least he was well-meaning and knew it was not his job to question him. With a sigh, Mr. Moreau looked around the room to see where they could eat. The coffee table seemed too low, and the desk too cluttered.

Ann poked her head out from under the covers and sat up again now that she knew she was safe, looking at him and the food with expecting eyes. He decided to allow her to eat while she was still in bed. Going around it and setting the warm plate on the nightstand closest to the girl, he pulled up the chair that was in front of the desk across the room to position it beside her. As she leaned over to look at it more closely, she seemed confused that the meal had only been ordered for one person, so that they were given only one knife and fork.

He wanted to let her take her share of the food first, as much as she saw fit, before he would take the utensils and finish the rest. Sitting down as she began eating, he finished assembling his tie, "I'll eat what you don't."

She split the toast in half, leaving one piece for him. He didn't take it just yet, finding it interesting just to watch her methodically pick her way around the rest of the food to decide what to save or take for herself. Invested in that, she didn't notice how his eyes furrowed with guilt as he continued watching her, realizing something, "Ann...I feel like I may have made a mistake."

"What?" she said through a full mouth.

"I didn't exactly think everything through. I don't know how I'm going to get you out of this hotel without getting us caught."

They couldn't walk down to the lobby like normal guests to check out, and she knew that. She looked at him skeptically and swallowed a morsel of egg, "But you'll figure it out, right? Because-"

"I'm a spy, and that's how I've always made my living."

She smiled, "Yeah."

"But if that doesn't help me and it seems there's nothing I can do, then I suppose we're staying to make the most of this until I run out of funds to stay any more nights here. When I leave, I'll have to let you go."

It pained him to see her smile fade. He continued, "...And once it's apparent you've come back safe, don't try to lie to anyone about what you were up to or who you were with. The police will always be thorough when interrogating you and they _will_ find out it was me."

She glanced in thought, chewing slowly as her features contorted further with unease. This must not have been what she expected when they made their pact last evening, but it was his fault for getting her hopes so high to begin with, that they would be inseparable.

He sighed, dropping his head, "At this point I’m more than willing to serve whatever amount of time they give me in prison."

But she, obviously, didn't seem willing to face the consequences of her own with her family. Putting down the fork, Ann reached over to hug him tightly around his neck and mumbled into his shoulder, "You said you can't let me go."

Mr. Moreau felt something warm grow in his chest. "Now, I won't if I can help it," he returned the embrace, "I never said all this is what _will_ happen." He only wanted to emphasize again there was always a good chance they might not get away. Even if it would end with a much less favorable result, they needed to have a Plan B to accompany Plan A.

"I'll see what I can do," he murmured when Ann removed herself from him and went back to work on her food, hoping she wouldn't stress too much. Their plan of escape needed to be worked out soon, but it was going to be all on him to make it happen.

She got a little greedy with their meal, taking all the bacon and most of the hash browns, but he said nothing. He polished off whatever was left on their plate. Once finished, she reached down to pick Knight off the floor, where it had been resting near Mr. Moreau's feet, and settled back into the bedding with it held close. The plate was left on the nightstand when he stood from the chair to lift it back to the desk, expecting it to be taken by housekeeping later.

_Housekeeping._

He spaced out the window in front of him. Thankfully he had been mindful enough to put the _'Do Not Disturb'_ sign out on the door for that day, but it wouldn't be to long before he needed to remove it for them to come in and clean, and most importantly for them not to become suspicious of whatever was happening inside.

On top of the dilemma of getting her out, he didn't want to trouble her about this issue with them yet - she probably never thought much of them since they were a rather latent force in the hotel as most guests spent their days away from their rooms. But he was going to have to find a clever way to hide her from them even sooner than their means of escape. Both were things that should have been figured out long before he had even taken her; he supposed he had been thrown too deep in his lust last week to think much about it. 

If this had been a part of it, such oversights caused by petty feelings would have been at the cost of his job. After barely managing to get rid of the security footage in time for the imminent investigation, he had assumed they were all set, but he was quickly finding that getting away with such a crime was a much more complicated task than he expected, probably equal to murder. 

_Later,_ it was all going to be sorted out. For now, he was curious of what was going on downstairs, whether other guests, staff, or summoned officers were already talking about whatever was known behind Ann's disappearance, spreading nasty rumors about her family, all in a vain effort just to find why she would run from them.

Mr. Moreau would have loved to boast how she seemed to have chosen him as a more worthy candidate for her affections than the ones who were her own flesh and blood.

He turned around and half expected to see his willing captive looking at him questionably after he had his back to her longer than intended, staring into his soul through a back door, but instead she was eyeing the TV and its remote on the desk. She pointed at it, asking, "Remote, please...?"

Without question, he picked it up and brought it to her, straightening his tie as he lingered at the bedside, "I'm going to the lobby to see what the police are doing. I'm sure everyone knows by now what has happened."

When it found itself in her hands, though, she didn't turn on the TV just yet. "You're just going out in front of them?" worry similar from earlier glazed over her eyes.

"They have no reason to believe I've done anything just from looking at me," he gave her a look of assurance with an underlying shade of pride in himself. It would have been awfully convenient for them if they could.

When he was about to turn to make his way to the door, she sat straighter with outstretched arms to him, like no matter his argument she still thought it could be the last time she saw him. Grinning, he bent to take one of her hands in his own and kiss her on the cheek, "I won't be too long."

* * *

Leaving Ann like a doe would a fawn to occupy herself and hide, yet almost feeling more like a pirate abandoning his treasure, Mr. Moreau shut the door out to the hall, looking either way. A lonely housekeeping cart sat someways to his left, none of the workers using it nearby to notice him leaving with the sign still on his door meant to ward them off. Heading the opposite way, he stepped into the empty elevator and rode to the main level.

After the doors opened and he found himself walking among innocents, he saw surprisingly that nothing about the hotel's vibe or the people in it he'd passed so far seemed inherently different. Like it oftentimes was supposed to be for his career, many of those potentially affected, at least in some way, had no idea yet of what happened.

But he knew that wasn't the case. When he reached the broader space of the lobby, this was quickly changed when he noticed several members of the police department idling in small groups, and some guests throughout making minor comments about their presence in passing. From what he was hearing, they were mostly wondering if there was a meeting for them taking place in the event center that day. Some of the more intuitive ones, though, accurately assumed something much worse. Then, the most well-informed of them all actually knew the entire story so far. Word would soon spread like wildfire at the resort, not that it was going to bring much detriment to Mr. Moreau.

Meanwhile, two police officers stood together as they spoke, one holding several documents at his side. The one with the papers occasionally sorted through and skimmed over them - one of them likely was the report filed to them for Ann's disappearance, containing whatever details were given by her family about her for them to work with.

Staying at the periphery of the lobby, Mr. Moreau tuned out the rest of his environment and listened to them closely without staring.

"...I think somebody in management said the resort's not responsible for this."

"Just the parents?"

"Yeah, but I still don't think this would have happened if the security here were keeping a better watch. I can't think of any excuse for there to be _no_ details on this case."

Silence fell between them as they both racked their minds over Mr. Moreau's riddle. As a part of it, they might have been reflecting on the missing CCTV footage if they had gone and attempted to retrieve it already. The operator of that room could have already been without a job as they spoke, for all he knew.

"Her family has to be confused like hell right now...she probably got all upset over nothing like a lot of kids these days."

"Which sucks since she's probably all kinds of screwed because of that, now."

 _She's quite alright,_ venturing further into the lobby, he moved past them both from behind to head for the lounge area.

"Sir."

A hand came upon his shoulder, and his stomach took a flip before he slowly turned around to see how the officer had suddenly become so austere. _They have no reason to believe I've done anything just from looking at me._ Or had he said it aloud without realizing?

"Have you seen this girl?" culled from the other documents, the other man held up a laminated sheet with a picture of Ann smiling for the camera, presumably among some family members. Mr. Moreau swallowed and tried his hardest to disguise his brief scare before looking. He honestly became intrigued by it, and took it in more closely not to recognize her, but to see how she looked when she was happiest, how life used to be for her. 

"Ever, last evening?"

Blinking twice, he realized he was looking for too long, and snapped out of his oncoming fantasies of her. He cleared his throat and took a step back, "No...I can't recall her at all." 

Without any other reply but a shrug, the officer left him and his colleague to move on to someone else. He had chosen the one person who actually knew Ann's whereabouts to ask, and without ever realizing had been denied his only opportunity to find out. If only Mr. Moreau had it in his mind to turn himself in, the officer could have been saved so much trouble from asking every single guest that went by.

Not feeling like sitting down anymore, he chose a pillar to lean against and watch the scenes from. He was used to the feeling of being the wolf among the lambs, but this was somehow unlike anything from before.

Everything felt legitimately _wrong,_ just as it should.

If he was landed in court that week, he couldn't tell the judge he was coerced by his agency, that he was only doing what he was getting paid to do, that it was for the greater good of the bureaucracy - potential excuses that had always assured him he was in the right. There was no basis for what he had done other than his pathetic desires that had risen from the insecurities he had for himself. The idea of having the girl and conditioning her to indefinitely give herself to him seemed to have snuffed out those problems, and as long as they remained under the radar he didn't think he would ever be happier in life. Most would say he was irredeemable just for that, he understood.

Mr. Moreau rubbed at his temple and willed the thoughts of his deserved judgment away, beginning to wonder where Ann's parents might be. She obviously had to resemble them, but he had no idea whether her looks favored one parent over the other, or even a more distant relative instead. If not them, he still might have been able to spot her brother, knowing what he looked like, but so far no young man he saw looked familiar to him.

All three must have been meeting with the sheriff and other authorities at the police department, or perhaps tucked away in the hotel office, speaking with resort management. He couldn't be bothered to hunt them down anyway, and for what? If he struck conversation they could probably be able to tell that his sympathies for them and their daughter weren't sincere.

Without paying much more thought, he moved away from the pillar and began strolling throughout the lobby to listen in on the other conversations taking place, but finding each of them to be irrelevant to his crime as the time passed. Eventually he was questioning why he was standing and looking over the lobby's intricacies when he could be returning to his room to be with Ann again.

"Claude!"

He startled, and looked behind and regretted to see Mr. Abbott approaching him from the front entrance, "Where have you been, man? Do you know what's going on?"

The Frenchman dismissed the first question tiresomely, rolling his eyes up to the decorated ceiling, "Yes, they say a young girl had gone missing last night. I don't think they've found a trace of her."

"Oh, damn...I thought it was a drug bust or something," Mr. Abbott came beside him with a troubled expression as they both began observing the police nearby.

"Apparently not."

Mr. Moreau couldn't blame him for that first assumption, especially if it involved opioids. He allowed his colleague time to think the real situation over. "That's tough," Mr. Abbott glanced, looking as if he wished to do something about it, "I never thought something like that would happen here of all places. Don't they know anything about the perpetrator?"

He only shook his head.

"Weird..." the American murmured, lowering his gaze. Searching his mind for something to change the subject to, it was strange to Mr. Moreau how Abbott had separated himself from Reid and Brunton - the three were usually bound together like chain links.

"Where are the others?"

Mr. Abbott glanced back at the front doors leading outside, "Oh, we were just standing outside on the porch. Care to join, or...?"

"I'll pass..." the Frenchman stiffened, "other things I must do."

"Okay, I can understand," he took a step away, beginning to leave him, "See you later."

"But Abbott?"

He whipped around, "Huh?"

"I may want to go to lunch with all of you later." He felt like he owed the group something after being so aloof to them last week, but with her still being top priority, it all depended on how badly Ann might demand his attention. If she insisted on him staying, he wasn't going; they could order lunch to be brought to their room instead. 

"Yeah, we can do that," Mr. Abbott nodded, turning away to head out again, "I'll shoot you a text when we're ready." He disappeared outside to be with the others on the porch.

Mr. Moreau thought he had been in the lobby long enough, believing it was time to return with Ann and wait it out until his colleagues decided where the group wanted to meet up and have lunch. When he was about to pass it by to reach the elevator, various smells of sweet things from the French Lick Mercantile caught his nose's attention, and before he knew it he had drifted into the store.

He was immediately taken back to the day he met her.

Soon after becoming enthralled with her very being, hair soaked with pool water framing her face and dampening her street clothes which seemed a little revealing for her age, he had caught a glimpse of how she tended to see and interact with the world around her. She had been so pure, and something had stirred in him to want to steal that away all for himself.

It hadn't even been a week, but it somehow felt long ago. As he went further inside he brushed past the same stand of mugs that she and her brother had laughed at. Glancing at each of their designs, he still couldn't find what was so funny to them. He ignored the other souvenirs and approached the stand where food was served, and on top of the display case he saw a selection of pastries and other desserts, among which was a chocolate cupcake.

Mr. Moreau didn't think he knew what a birthday was to a child without a cake, so he didn't leave the store without it.

He unlocked his door and immediately saw a face lit with welcome for him. Ann's attention had come away from the TV and she mumbled a greeting from bed as Mr. Moreau entered. He vaguely hid her present behind his back as he closed himself inside and gave her a smile of acknowledgment, "I've brought something."

She turned off the TV to give him her full attention, putting down the remote and shuffling to the side of the bed where he was closest. He sat beside her and presented her with the gift. "Oh," Ann took hold of it, "Thank you..."

She jested as she began peeling off the wrapper, "You forgot to put twelve candles in it!" He smiled, but meanwhile, Mr. Moreau had been taking note of the small things seen in her expressions. Despite the joy that shined through her character, she still appeared to carry herself stiffly to him, in some amount of pain. He leaned in to kiss and nuzzle her cheek as she took the first bite of the cupcake, "Forgive me..."

"For what? No candles...?" she looked at him as she chewed, some smudges of chocolate frosting lining the corners of her mouth. He wanted to kiss them from her face, but hesitated. 

"...I hurt you last night."

A short pause, "But it felt good."

He couldn't argue against that. He licked his lips, thinking back to his own partaken pleasure as well, already fantasizing about the next time he would have it yet to come, but not until she felt alright with it again. "I'm happy it did," he didn't let his gaze meet hers.

Ann had finished her cupcake quickly - he offered to take its wrapper from her and stood up to toss it into the nearby wastebasket. Looking at the time, there wasn't anything left for him to do but wait for the text from Abbott calling him out to eat and to decide whether he was willing to go. When he turned and sat down with her again, he saw that she had begun trying to lick and wipe whatever remained of it from around her mouth, "Here..."

"What-" she smiled when he took her face in both hands, and just a moment later Mr. Moreau was graciously trying to clean the mess she made around her mouth with his own. Her mouth had opened wider in its grin as he sucked around it, and he quickly took claim of it. As soon as they kissed, he saw why she had finished the treat so fast - its sweet richness still remained in her mouth for him to enjoy as well.

He withdrew to evaluate what was left on her face - all clear, except for a newly formed blush which he adored to see. With his hand at her waist, he guided her for them to lay down together on the bed. He otherwise kept his hands off her, allowing her to get comfortable and ensuring she wouldn't think he was trying anything. 

Ann, in the meantime, was wondering what exactly Mr. Moreau had seen in the other areas of the hotel she couldn't visit anymore after he left her earlier. They spoke to each other in hushed tones.

"What was happening downstairs?"

"Not much...there were police but they didn't seem to be occupied." He sort of wished they had been so he could at least see what they were trying to do to find her, then figure possible ways to further evade them. 

Her eyes furrowed, and she looked down at her hands, "Did you see my parents?"

"I don't know what your parents look like, _chérie_."

"I look more like my mom, at least that's what she says."

 _Used to say,_ he reflected for a moment, "I saw no woman resembling you." Her mother couldn't be as pretty as she.

"Or Jackson?"

"Jackson, neither," he found himself bristling at the mention of his name. Just watching that boy a couple times from a distance, he had never liked him. He could only ever wonder how Jackson was feeling at that moment, whether he was in a way relieved of the life-long tensions between the siblings, or if he was genuinely terrified for his sister. A confusing slurry of them might serve as a wake-up call to the consequences of treating Ann like he did.

To them both, it was like her family had dropped off the face of the Earth, and Ann literally had nobody else but him anymore. Strangely sad, but still pleasant, they found, but without either letting the other on of that.

After a while, remembering the time of day it was, he felt compelled to ask, "Is there something you'd like for lunch?"

"I'm not that hungry."

Not after that cupcake, she wasn't; he forgot about that. He wondered if some of the pains in her abdomen were affecting her appetite too, even if they weren't from her stomach. 

He didn’t press the issue, and they continued to lay side by side for some time, Mr. Moreau didn't know for how long. Ann had eventually shut her eyes, and he was beginning to doze off himself when felt his phone vibrate incessantly in his pocket. As Ann's eyes fluttered open at the noise, he slowly sat up on the bedside to check it, finding the anticipated text from Abbott saying the group had decided on a place to eat and asking if he was certain he wanted to go out with them.

Not replying to it yet, he stood and looked down at Ann, "You don't mind if I leave for lunch, do you?"

Blank-faced, she made no indication of a 'yes' or 'no'.

"I have some people expecting me," he added and went to retrieve a blazer from his suitcase. She got up to crawl and tuck herself under the sheets again, appearing somewhat hurt, "Important people?"

He chuckled as he put on the garment, "Not as important as you, now, but I came to this resort with them and I haven't met with them often since meeting you."

"Oh."

He came back to sit at the bedside again, taking her hand and squeezing, "When I return, I won't leave you for the rest of the evening. How does that sound?"

She yawned, laying her head on the pillow, "Sounds good..."

He leaned across to kiss her temple, then wrote a quick text back telling Mr. Abbott he was on his way before disappearing out into the hall.

Ann shoved her face into the pillow and sighed after Mr. Moreau was gone. She thought he had been visiting French Lick all alone, and maybe that was one reason why he had sought her company there. She was still flattered, though, how he had seemed to have forgotten about these 'friends', whoever they were, just for a while because of her. One could say he had made the same effect on the girl.

She understood his need to get in touch with them again, but couldn't say she could ever do the same for her family. Turning over to choose a window in front of her to stare out, she dreamed of the unforeseen summer she was going to savor away from them, trying to forget.

* * *

Lunch with his colleagues hadn't been as disengaging as Mr. Moreau would normally expect, but it was mainly because Ann's disappearance had been shortly brought up by Brunton as they waited idly for their orders, _'What kind of person would just do that?'_

_I don't know._

The one sitting in front of him. He had looked anywhere except the man who innocently wished to find out.

_'...Other than a serial killer?'_

_She's lucky I'm not._

The three Americans had clear condolences for this girl and her family, but even if they were the investigative type of men, they still were not actual legal investigators, and the subject was soon dropped. Imagining, as his colleagues moved on as they spoke, if they had gotten involved with it in some alternate reality, Mr. Moreau realized he would have been forced to search for and 'find' himself. He had finished his drink faster than the others.

Now the group was disbanded in the parking lot, and he stood next to his car in the lot in front of the hotel, alone with only his thoughts again, finishing off a cigarette. He checked his watch and saw that it had been for nearly ninety minutes that he was out with them. He was glad that during no point in that time his colleagues suspected a thing of him; somehow it would have come as no surprise to him if they considered it, even if they were mostly joking around with the idea.

Ironically, he needed to return to the girl he took in order to forget the fact he was the one being hunted for her. 

And he noticed how sexual frustration had been advancing on him throughout the day, with his pants beginning to feel tighter than they should. It seemed like it had been such a long time since he had a partner to satisfy his most primal desires with, but with the pain Ann was in as a result of that before, he figured they still needed to wait, at least until it subsided for them to do it again.

Mr. Moreau tried to take his mind off her, to think of anything else - his career, his former home in France, except how she was laying in his bed at that very moment, waiting for him to come back for her and being secretly his to do whatever he wished with from then on. To no avail.

She wouldn't deny his attention. He needed to take his girl again, though this time approaching it from a different angle, perhaps.

He hurriedly exited the lot to make the climb up the stairway leading to the hotel's entrance. On entering, even the ample air conditioning inside wasn't enough to cool him; he took off his blazer and draped it over his arm as he continued through the lobby until reaching the elevator. He opened into his room to find her supposedly asleep on her back. Watching intently, making sure, she still didn't move when he shut the door and hung his jacket on the rack. He was disappointed not to come in to see her smiling at him, but he enjoyed watching her lie there in peace either way.

Letting her have her sleep, but wanting to do something to pass the time until she woke, he wandered into the bathroom to preen in front of the mirror, washing his face with a cloth and combing out some of the tousles out of his hair caused from the breeze outside. Before he was about to use some mouthwash an extra time for the day, he stopped with the cap full of turquoise liquid almost at his lips and questioned _why_ he was doing all this.

Did he really need to go out of his way to try and impress her anymore? He already had her in his clutches, and in their situation, especially, her interest in him wasn't going to wane any time soon. Not that it could possibly hurt, Mr. Moreau continued on with washing out his mouth anyway.

Just a few minutes later, he came out the bathroom to see that Ann had risen from her nap some time while he was in there. She had kicked the sheets off her, strewn like a cat over the bed and staring at him with a look of longing he was becoming pleasantly familiar with. Or maybe those heavy eyes were more from her recent sleep and sloth rather than lust, he couldn't quite tell. He assumed the best.

His eyes followed her form obscured by her nightgown - how he wished to peel it from her. "I take you've enjoyed what we've done so far..." he purred, approaching slowly toward a dream that might become reality, "Is more what you'd like, for this day?"

She answered him with the burn that formed on her cheeks, enticing him enough to come closer. Before long, his hands were on the bed at either side of her body as he loomed over her, beginning their play by planting kisses at the base of her neck and trailing his way up to her throat and jawline. Mr. Moreau was right in what he assumed, and Ann welcomed the intimacy, bringing her arms around him and nuzzling into the crook of his neck. Sucking one last mark close to her ear, he stopped, "Now, Ann, for _this _time do you want us to take off our clothes?"__

After a moment's silence, she sat up and lifted her arms for him to slip her nightgown off. Now she was willing to show all of herself to him; he could hardly wait. With one swift pull of fabric, it was revealed to him her breasts which had hardly begun to grow at her given age, nipples gradually reduced to nubs as the cool air reached them. " _Tellement beau..._ " he cooed, eyes wandering over every area between her collarbone and navel until they finally landed upon her groin, still covered. The prize laid under only one more piece of clothing. Biting his tongue, he gently pulled her underwear down from one side before it was brought down her legs, and she kicked them off for them to land on the floor beside the bed.

Observing each slight curve in her body at last, Mr. Moreau drank in the sight of his nymphet fully exposed to him like a fine wine. It had only been a few days knowing she even existed, but for as long as he lived he didn't believe he would ever tire of her. 

"Now it's your turn!"

Returning from his lecherous trance, Mr. Moreau almost forgot he had to undress as well. Glancing at her enthused smile, he backed off to the side of the bed, still kneeling over it. He unbuttoned his waistcoat and pulled the belt out from his pants, dropping them aside onto the floor. As he undid each of the buttons on his shirt, more skin was revealed to Ann as she watched intently. His chest was toned, adorned with small silvery black hairs, but with no clearly defined abs below. Shrugging it off fully, his arms were shown not to be very well-muscled, but there may have been an indication of some kind of training in the past, Ann wondered. He backed to stand on the floor and lastly remove his pants and underwear.

He may not have had the most ideal body to most women, slender and nonathletic, but Ann seemed easily impressionable. She had no previous basis upon which to compare him, after all.

Mr. Moreau noticed how her eyes flicked over his features, including his most masculine one, as he climbed back over her and let them resume their smothering kisses. He hummed praise when she actively kissed him back, even bringing her tongue to probe past his lips. Tentatively, he lowered himself until his chest touched hers, caressing her hip, and he marveled the way her naked body felt so supple in contrast to his aging, wiry one. Betraying his instincts which insisted on him taking her right then, he hesitated in making any further moves as he wandered down to her neck in thought.

He didn't want her to be in pain anymore when they did this, and he supposed in order to achieve that he would need to 'prepare' her better this time for his entrance. Their first time would have been easier this way, but during it he thought he had been impulsive. Now he was interested in seeing how far his patience would allow him, for the girl's sake. He didn't want to be carried away with his own interests at her expense.

He wondered what it was she had in mind - she had to know best on what she could or could not handle from him.

"Any requests, my dear?" he inquired with a kiss around her collar, but was met with no reply. In secret, one part of him wished for her to beg for his cock again in order for him to be sated, but another quickly reined him in to remember to put her needs over his. Then, recalling that this was a girl and not a woman, with her inexperience she probably still didn't know what she really wanted, she didn't actually know best. He found he still needed to guide her along.

"I _know_ you liked this," with a glint in his stare at Ann, he moved down and let his head between her legs after spreading them, and she keened as she felt the first contact of his mouth which immediately began to send waves of pleasure through her without warning. He started with only soft kisses to her parts, not much different from the chaste ones he would always leave on her face above. Ann's breathing hitched and she began making small noises for him when he gradually upped the pace of his mouth, making sure to pay special attention to her clit.

Mr. Moreau wasn't hearing enough from her. As an experiment, he flicked his tongue throughout her labia, searching every little part of her. There was hardly anything sweeter to him in the world than Ann's taste and the moans which rose from her whenever he sought it. Her entrance seemed to pulsate with each of his wet strokes that taunted it from every place around, as if pleading for his tongue to be inside - but the girl was unable to tell him her need, maybe ashamed of it. He would have told her there was no need to be shy about what she thought was needed from him to find relief, if only his mouth hadn't been occupied in giving that to her already.

He could sense more frustration in her when she shimmied her hips against his face and made a faint whine. After enough teasing the girl, he finally stuck his tongue past her folds, probably more rashly than he intended.

Mr. Moreau wished his cock had been there instead. He groaned as she squealed and her walls clenched around his tongue, trying desperately to accommodate and draw release from it. It couldn't be made certain to him whether she was in pain; the inflections in her moans rang conflicting in his ears. He continued on to suck gently on her folds from the outside, simulating a massage as he meanwhile made small thrusts with his tongue through her wetness.

Her breaths grew more erratic each time until, finally, she let out one last cry and convulsed around his mouth. He didn't withdraw from her until the quivering throughout her lower regions and thighs slowed to an end, leaving her to quietly settle and catch her breath.

Following that climax, he took note of how she became much more relaxed before him, letting herself melt into the bedding. She would likely take his cock easier than their first time, and he wanted to take full advantage of that, that is, if she was willing to follow through with him. He lifted his head from the delicious inferno between her legs to her flushed face above. 

When he gently claimed her lips again, she faced the strange experience of finding out how she had tasted to him. She couldn't see the appeal, but supposed that wasn't the point. He had done it to please her exclusively. After their kiss broke, as he went on to pepper more all over her chest, she tilted her head and looked lazily down his bare body toward his neglected cock that wasn't too far from her own genitals, which began feeling the same despite all the attention before. She didn't understand why he wouldn't let them get on with intercourse - it was clearly what they were both longing for.

Without words, she thrust her hips up against him, and he eagerly took that as a sure sign of what she wanted, that in every respect she was ready to take him again. From both his saliva and her fluids from before, she had to be slick enough for him to make a smooth entrance. Removing his mouth from her chest and taking hold of her hips, he looked behind and lined himself up to her awaiting hole. She still laid in a fuzzy state of limbo, and her hold on his body never tensed more as she waited for him.

When he slowly eased himself inside and let her heat surround him, crooning to her words of encouragement as he held her tightly, he noticed overall that she was much more lax around him, yet felt no less pleasing. This was how he always wanted her to be for him.

"Was that not easier...?" he said, smiling down at her. Eyes shut tightly and adjusting to the feel of him inside her once again, she reveled in the fact that it was. It helped that she had known just what to expect this time.

He guided each of her legs so that they wrapped around his waist. Though he still wanted to maintain in being just as gentle as their first time, it made his thrusts a little easier to carry out, and deeper.

Ann could barely feel traces of soreness from the night before with each thrust once he began, but it was no match for the pleasure that coursed through every part of her now. It wasn't too long before she was constantly feeling on edge deep inside, but could never quite reach the finale she was hoping for with Mr. Moreau's soft pace. "Harder..." she whimpered to him above.

Surprised at such a request so early on, he whispered into her shoulder, "I don't want to hurt you." He didn't want to leave her any more sore than their first time, or worse.

"Just a little...please," she gasped, rolling her hips to try and meet his thrusts. He grunted at the sudden new movements before grasping her pelvis to persuade her to stop, "Only a little."

As carefully as he could muster, he picked up his pace, aiming to delve into her deeper than he ever had. Soon, the tell-tale rise in Ann's gasps and tightening of her legs' grip on his waist told him she was close. With every firm thrust she was being pushed closer to the brink until at least she plunged over it, spasming and hanging on to him for dear life. Her mind reeled - this must have been twice as intense as anything before it.

Mr. Moreau could feel the threat of his climax incoming as a result of hers, but no, he wasn't allowing it. He shut his eyes tight as he reluctantly put his entire mind into holding out instead of the precious moans he heard from beneath him. As her ecstasy drew to an end, he slowly pulled out of Ann, still overcome with his aching hardness that now glistened with her fluids. 

What little remained of her orgasm shook her voice, "What about you...?"

"Don't worry about me," he panted, "Your enjoyment is all I ask."

He would have so much rather been inside, but it was too much for him if he didn't want to lose himself and end it all too early. To take the place of his cock, he slid his index finger inside to occupy her as he took it in his hand. He stroked himself at a slower pace, hand practically ghosting over his length so he could relish in these moments he may never have the chance to experience again, for all he knew.

But not forgetting to cater to Ann's experience too, he pressed his thumb to her clit and circled the nub to coax moans out of her further. As they began feeling weak as jelly from all the attention, she let her limbs release their hold on him, laying flat over the sheets.

Mr. Moreau had drifted away from the present moment as his stare wandered between her heaving chest, her slightly parted lips, her closed eyes - how he wished for them to be open and looking at him the way he looked at her. Without a second thought, he shoved his middle finger into her alongside the first, eliciting a sharp gasp and causing her eyes to crack momentarily.

Overstimulated from everything prior, the friction she felt grew rapidly as she was stretched tight around his fingers that thrusted in and out of her. It hadn't taken much more from him until she reached her peak for the third time, her only response to it being a weak, shuddering gasp. When she returned and his fingers had been withdrawn, her eyes opened to gaze directly into his, and in those blue eyes all he could see were two black abysses beneath an ocean. Their room was well-lit from the sunny weather outside - her pupils had expanded from little else than the raw desire she had for him.

He couldn't hold out any longer.

With a groan he came in many spurts over the girl, covering her vulva and lower belly in his release. Once finished and spent, Mr. Moreau let out a slow exhale as he came tumbling down from his high, and lowered his gaze to the girl to see her mottled in white. What a beautiful mess he had made of her.

He slumped on the bed at her side, "You've worn me out, _chérie_."

She grinned lazily as she shifted close enough to him for them to touch noses. As he put an arm around her and regained his breath, he figured that was more than enough for one day. He began to realize he really felt...old.

The heady scent of sex permeated through the room, he began to notice while Ann was still unfamiliar with it, but it soon dissipated out the window he had left open the night before. Mr. Moreau swallowed. Though he didn't think they had been very loud, he still hoped that none of the nearby rooms had any of their own windows left open, if anyone was even in them.

He forgot his worries when Ann gestured with outstretched arms for him to come even closer, and the next thing they knew he was on top of her again and possessing her very being with his mouth. He hadn't noticed how much they both shifted over the bed, lying crooked. Granting him better access to her throat, she twisted her head upside down over the side of the bed to look back at the door with concern, "Didn't you put that sign out on the door, whatever it is?"

He stopped the kisses to her throat and looked her same direction, smiling, "Yes, _ma belle_ , housekeeping knows not to come in today." He gently lifted her by the torso and moved her so that they both laid straight on the bed again.

That came to her as a relief. "What if they just came in anyway and saw us right now?" she giggled, letting out a small mock scream to mimic their likely reaction.

He jerked his head behind him, "That window would be of great use to me."

"To escape...?"

"To kill myself."

A Frenchman at French Lick committed suicide after being caught in bed with a twelve year old by the housekeeping. It was hard to imagine that headline in print.

"Oh..." she paled. It could have hit her like a brick, how she was reminded again that everything between them was wrong at its core, no matter how good they may have made each other feel. She would have forgotten otherwise, because it all seemed to her so right.

Though he had only made a dry joke over it, it sounded very real that Mr. Moreau was beginning to think that suicide would be a better option than for him to face imprisonment and the contempt that followed from the other inmates, the public, and everyone he had known - contrary to what he had said earlier during breakfast. The night before he had mentioned that he would lose everything in his life if they were found out, and maybe he thought that just to go one step further, to lose life itself, wouldn't make much more of a difference. 

Not that it was going to happen.

Dismounting, he remembered his seed that still clung to her skin, "Clean yourself up."

She looked down her marked torso and blushed before rolling over, making sure nothing got on the bed as she got off of it, grabbed new clothes and headed to the bathroom. Hearing her draw a bath behind the shut door, Mr. Moreau stood to pick his old clothes off the floor and put on some new underwear. When he went to shut the window, he peered over the sill to the ground four stories below, where shards of that wine bottle from last week still littered the grass. 

If that awful scenario Ann conjured had really shown itself to him, he wasn't so sure if the leap would even kill him. He'd certainly break at least a few bones, but he imagined the trauma would only result in a slow, agonizing death over a swift one. He shrugged to himself before pulling the window and its curtains closed and returning to bed. As long as he successfully avoided the staff and authorities that day forward, he would never have to know the answer to that.

Ann soon came out of the bathroom clean and looking like the chaste, innocent little girl nobody would be surprised in seeing. Timidly, she ambled her way back to him in bed and sat next to him. She copied his stance, to which they also copied each other's smiles before she shuffled closer and leaned into his bare shoulder. Even as they relaxed into the pillows and he positioned his arm behind her back to hold her, the girl never looked him in the face, fidgeting a little and looking out into the room until a question, out of nowhere, came from her.

"Did you always like girls like me?" she asked, "Is that why you never got married?"

It suddenly felt more foreign than ever to be in bed beside her, "No."

She paused, looking down at her hands, "To which one of those?"

"Both."

She never said anything more. He wondered for a moment whether he should tell her stories from his relationships in the years past, how even the longest-lasting ones were never so fulfilling to him as these last few days with Ann. But he supposed he wouldn't - those things needed to be left in the past, behind him.

* * *

That afternoon gave way to a quiet evening, where they had followed the same routine with dinner as they had with breakfast, speaking few words, managing to keep their minds in the present and not worry about the authorities who continued to look for them anyplace than where they would actually discover them. But when they settled into bed later for the night, Mr. Moreau was curious as to what Ann thought.

"Was this a good birthday?"

"Uh-huh," she yawned, looking ready to nod off any minute.

"Better than the rest?"

She took a minute to recall every previous birthday years past, as far back as she could remember. This one had certainly been the most interesting so far, with the aftermath of her choice for it lasting indefinitely. She imagined many years from now, as a grown woman out in the world, that somehow this past week would still remain burned in her memory, even when almost everything else she had known in her life up to that day had mostly faded to the recesses of it.

"Yeah..." she breathed, and her eyes slowly shut. As sleep claimed her she could scarcely feel the brush of Mr. Moreau's lips on her forehead.

Soon after he was sure Ann had fallen asleep, he got out of bed and carefully opened the door to take the _'Do Not Disturb'_ sign off the knob outside and laid it on the nightstand, because he didn't think it was going to be needed any longer. 

Because earlier that evening, without telling her, he had come up with a good idea ready for Ann to hide from the people who would have otherwise heeded that sign - it was about time their bedding needed to be switched out anyway.


End file.
